


Sugar & Spice

by EasyTiga



Category: Actor RPF, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Ass to Mouth, Barebacking, Betrayal, Biting, Blowjobs, Bottom Jared, Bottom Jared Padalecki, Dark Jensen Ackles, Flirty Jared, Gore, Jealous Jensen Ackles, M/M, Marking, Mob Boss Jensen Ackles, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Jensen Ackles, Protective Jensen, Rimming, Rough Sex, Sex Addict Jared, Sex Addiction, Top Jensen, Top Jensen Ackles, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:08:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24391825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EasyTiga/pseuds/EasyTiga
Summary: CURRENTLY ON HIATUSSAVE YOURSELF THE TROUBLE AND WAIT, IS MY SUGGESTION. I DON'T KNOW HOW LONG IT WILL TAKE TO GET BACK TO IT.
Relationships: Jensen Ackles/Jared Padalecki
Comments: 69
Kudos: 125





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Jensen + Mob Boss is like... *faints*
> 
> Jared + Sex addict/Vixen/Flirty and cute and dimples is like... *faints* 
> 
> Both of them together is like... *coma*

"Please, Boss--I won't make the same mistake again. I promise. _Please_ don't sign my death warrant," a man says, voice desperate. His face is cracked and bleeding, nostrils lined with hardened blood. There's a gash across his forehead, harsh red lines dripping down from the space, splitting at the bridge of his nose. Thin lips are torn in more than one place, tucking in as he spits out a fresh glob of blood onto the royal blue carpet beneath; panic darkening his eyes as he registers what he did. "No... No, I'm sorry--I'll clean it up. _Please,_ Boss."

An impatient sigh passes full, pink lips as they wave their hand. A silenced gunshot breaks the sound barrier following the gesture, and the pleading man is no more, _more_ of his blood seeping into a brand new carpet.

"I might have let him live if he didn't ruin my floor," Jensen muses, revulsion glinting in his eyes as he stares down at the fresh corpse. "Someone clean this up. I'm going out."

"Yes, Boss," someone ascents from the side of him, rushing over to initiate the prep work.

Jensen pays them no mind at all as he stalks out of the room, casting one last aggravated look at the dead man. It's their own fault for thinking that they can steal from _him_ and get away with it. He needed to teach them a lesson, and he needed everyone else to see that there are consequences for going behind his back.

It's not the first time that someone has thought to defy him. He made the mistake of allowing that person to live--he showed them _mercy,_ and this is the payoff for his kindness. By giving that person a second chance, _others_ assumed that they would be shown the same courtesy. Well, that's not going to happen. Jensen has always been the type to learn from his mistakes. This will be no different.

The reason he granted that redo in the first place is that they were _his_ subordinate. In some way, that made them part of his family, and he's got a soft spot for Family. His parents' taught him good values, and he has made it his mission to keep them with him wherever he goes, even if they're no longer with him.

He's _done_ giving second chances. He's _done_ being made to be a fool. He's _done_ taking shit from anybody else.

Far too often in this world, Jensen's overlooked because he's too _nice_ to be a tough guy--to be a Mob Boss. Well, screw them. He can be both of those things if he wants to be. That's the whole point. He chooses to be those things--he has control over his own actions. Just as easily as he could put a bullet in someone's head, he could order them a nice, deep-tissue massage that would leave them feeling like Jello. It depends on how _he_ decides it's going to happen.

Jensen growls as he snatches his coat off the rack and narrows his eyes at Clint when he makes to follow him. "I'm going alone. If you follow me, make sure you've said your goodbyes to whoever it may concern first," he says coldly, slamming the door shut behind him.

Outside, he shrugs his coat on and starts walking towards the gates, strides confident and true.

Nowadays, he rarely goes out on his own. It comes with being the Boss. Jensen never thought that he would climb as high as he has in the Criminal underbelly of Texas, but here he is, issuing hits on people that he's never had the displeasure of meeting, and holding more people's lives in his hands than he cares to think about.

In the beginning, he needed to make money, so he got his hands dirty. It seemed simple enough. He had enough of a screw loose that being a debt-collector was relatively easy for him. People paid him _good_ money to chase down runaways and the like, promising them all kinds of pain if they didn't pay up. And Jensen would be lying if he said that he didn't like the power that it gave him.

Eventually, more people joined him as the clients' list grew, and before he knew what was happening, he was in charge of thirty different people--all of them skilled in their own rights. Now he's the Boss of over three hundred individuals, spread out across the United States. The main branch is in Austin, Texas, but he has trusted Seconds that supervise the other branches when he's not available to make a decision.

Those are the people that he trusts implicitly. They tell him _everything,_ and that's why no one has a chance to double-cross him. He has eyes and ears in all the right places; no one cannot be bought with enough money or false promises.

Jensen's phone comes to life in his pocket and he groans aloud. Someone is getting a punch for ratting on him going for a walk.

"What?" he bites out as he answers, quickening his strides.

"You're going out _alone_?" Danneel asks calmly, slowing his steps.

"Oh, it's you. Hey, Danni."

"Hey, Jen. Are you okay?"

Jensen stops and takes in the fresh air, "I'm fine. Just a little stressed. I need to unwind."

"You want me to set someone up for you? There's a lot to do here in lovely New York, but I can get it done."

Jensen grins at that, a fondness to his voice as he says, "Nah, you've got a sub-branch to run. I can take care of myself."

"We all know you can take care of yourself, Jen. But I'm worried. You've pissed a lot of people off the past couple of months," Danneel reminds him, using that soft tone of voice she reserves purely for him. "You know Chris will go on a rampage if anything happens to you. Not that he'll be the only one. I'll make heads roll if--"

"Danni, relax," Jensen soothes, starting up his walk again. "I'm not going far. And you know what Chris is like; he'll have set up some blatantly obvious tail and surveillance van to monitor my every move before I even reach the gate," he says with a deep laugh, feeling somewhat calmer. "I'll be fine."

"You better be. I won't do this job without you--"

"You will because you and Chris are the _only_ two I trust to take over in my stead," Jensen states plainly. "I'm not planning on kicking the bucket just yet, but if that does happen, _you will_ take my position."

"Just until I find a way to revive you," Danneel jokes, but Jensen somehow suspects she means it. "Text me when you're home. And use the code, please?"

Jensen shakes his head, biting his lip. "Yes, Mamma."

"Don't take that tone with me, young man," she tacks on. "Don't forget to use the code. And be safe."

"I always am," Jensen relents, grinning as he reaches the gate. "I can already hear _three_ cars pulling up outside. That man is so damn predictable."

"That's because he loves you to pieces, idiot," she adds fondly. "Wrap it before you tap it, Stud."

"Ahaha. Good one."

"Code."

"Right, right. Bye," Jensen grumbles, ending the call.

The gates turn inward, prompted by his thumb scanner on his phone. Jensen walks through and pivots to the left, starting off down the street. He's not going to dodge his tail; Chris will call in helicopters if he does that.

As much as he can, he ignores the cars, pretending as if he's going for a brisk walk, hands in his pockets and mind clear of all worries. It's a simple pleasure that normal people get to experience every day, so why should it be any different for him.

Before Danneel mentioned setting someone up for him, sex hadn't actually been on his mind--believe it or not. Now that he's thinking about it, he could do with a warm body to lose himself in for the night. He doesn't want them _set_ up for him, though. He wants to go out into the real world and land himself a willing participant--someone he _earned._

Sex is something Jensen loves. _A lot._ Ever since that first time Tommy spread his legs for him and accepted him into his body, it became somewhat of an addiction. Tom has since ingratiated himself to him on more than one occasion. Always the type to please others, it makes sense to Jensen that he would allow him to use his body whenever he's hard up. And that happens quite a bit--he doesn't have the time in his line of work to go out and fuck everything that moves, so it's convenient.

Plus, he likes Tom. Tom is someone that he considers a good friend. But _only_ a good friend. The man is a fantastic lay and has a hole so tight it's almost virginal. Still, Jensen has no feelings for him beyond using his body for his own satisfaction.

At the end of the street, Jensen rounds the corner, feeling in the mood for a nice stiff drink. Behind him, he hears his mechanical shadows slow down, preparing to make the turn. Jensen rolls his eyes and makes for the crosswalk, clearing the space in eight or so strides. A small looking tavern rests several meters away--features darkened by the night's sky while maintaining a quaint, inviting presence that Jensen finds himself heading for.

He doesn't bother to read the sign as he goes in, thinking that the bell above his head is wildly unnecessary as it dings on entry. Jensen peels his jacket off and hangs it on one of the hooks provided, snatching his wallet from the inner pocket before heading for the bar area.

There are four seats available. The tavern is practically empty, save for him and what looks to be a barfly bent over with his hand sealed around his glass. Jensen dismisses him with a scornful look, taking the seat furthest away. He takes his time checking out the collection of spirits, wondering to himself what takes his fancy when a smooth drawl interrupts his browsings.

"You look like a man who enjoys a nice _Rangers Creek,"_ the voice says, presenting him with the bottle, one eyebrow arched in invitation. Jensen accepts the offer with a finger point, green eyes taking in the broad shoulders, sinewy muscle and angular face. Sloe, hazel eyes flick down to meet his own as the stunningly attractive man pours him two fingers. "Rough day, man?"

"You wouldn't get it, dude," Jensen replies, sampling the bartenders choice. It's nice--heavy and sweet with a mild burn; hints of cinnamon and caramel somewhere in the mix. "This is good."

"I knew you'd like it," the man replies, seemingly thrilled by the admission. "It's made locally back home, so I always love when a customer likes it," he adds, eyes faraway. He's probably thinking about his _home._

"You're from 'Tonio, then?"

"Yeah, man. Born and raised. You?"

Jensen takes another sip, letting it rest in his mouth as he tastes the vanilla and butterscotch. "Dallas, originally."

"I see. Cowboys fan," the man rolls his eyes and beams at him, "I should be pouring that drink all over you for that."

"It's not my fault you chose to pledge your loyalty to washed-up has-beens who wouldn't know how to land a touchdown if it was staring them in the face," Jensen rebuffs, a spark in his eyes.

"Yeesh. You're not one of those Dak Prescott loyalists, are you? Because we might have to throw down right here." There’re zero intentions of that in the man's eyes, but he squares his shoulders anyway. "I'm at least half certain I could kick your ass."

Jensen bites back the laughter he feels chasing up his throat. "I do that far too often in my day job for there to be any amount of enjoyment in it anymore," he says, surprised that he actually said it.

The man softens then, bending forward to brace on sturdy wrists. "I'm sorry, man. I didn't mean to ruin the mood," he replies honestly, looking disappointed in himself.

For some reason, Jensen decides he doesn't like seeing this stranger look so defeated. "It's fine. You didn't. I've just had a really long day... But I'm appreciating the company. Even if you are an _Eagles_ fan. What kind of Texan doesn't root for _The Cowboys?_ " Jensen dismisses, scrunching up his nose.

"Pfft. Dak wishes he was half as good as Carson on his _best_ day," the man insists, crossing his arms over his chest with a huff.

"So that's why you work here, venting all your frustrations about your crappy team to that barfly over there," Jensen says with a smirk, finishing the rest of his drink.

"Look here, uh.…" The man stops, embarrassed.

"Jensen."

" _Jensen_ \--that _barfly_ over there has a name."

Jensen cuts the man in question a look. "And what is it?" he asks, settling his eyes on the much more appealing one in front of him.

"I don't actually know..." he says, aghast. "I really should have asked. He knows my name--it's only fair." 

"What _is_ your name?" Jensen questions, eager to know the answer. "You do know _mine_ after all. Even if you're a heathen."

"Y'know what? That's fair. Maybe I should just move to Philidelphia," the man replies, mock-offended. "And it's Jared."

"You could move to Philidelphia, but the shame would only go with you, _Jared,"_ Jensen informs him, one brow quirked in amusement. "No snappy response?"

Jared glances to the side as he pours him another drink, "Sorry. It's just... I like your smile."

"Thanks. It’s my Dad’s." Jensen takes the opportunity to marvel the stretch of Jared's neck, wondering how long it will take him to have it completely covered in bites. "So, do you own this place?"

There's a gleam of gratitude in Jared's eyes as he twists his head back to him. "I don't, actually. I've been running the place for a friend while she's away on business."

A pang of dissatisfaction hits Jensen. "How long will she be away?"

"Why? Are you planning on trying to turn me to your side?" Jared questions with a slight lilt at the end. "I'll save you the trouble now and tell you it's not going to happen."

"Stranger things have happened, Jared. And I can be pretty convincing when I want to be," Jensen retaliates, swilling the amber liquid around in his glass, "I was wondering if you'd be here tomorrow."

"Planning on coming back?" Jared asks, tone warm and pleasant. "I thought you'd be putting out a hit on me by now."

Jensen can't help but smile at the irony. "Don't worry. I fully intend to make good on that if you keep at it with your sinful ways."

"Uh-huh. And, yeah. I'll be here tomorrow."

"Great," Jensen replies, hiding his excitement as he drains the rest of his drink, slapping far more bills than he should on the bartop before walking off towards his jacket. "I'll see you then, Jared."

Jensen wishes that he could have stayed out longer, but he knows that he doesn't have the time to sit there and drink the night away with Jared, regretfully. Plus, if he spends too long here, Chris will drag him out kicking and screaming, and he'd never live that down.

Jared waves at him with a large hand, lips stretched in an amused smile as he sweeps his eyes over the hefty amount of bills. He looks beautiful.

As Jensen exits the tavern and starts his walk back to his house, he thinks to himself that talking with Jared may have been the best night that he's ever had in his life. They were just talking. Shooting the shit. Ragging on each other's teams. But he has never felt so relaxed--so calm, so happy than at that moment.

And he wants to feel that again.

===

Not one second after he steps through the door, four people are fussing over him. One takes his jacket. Another straightens his suit, hands shaking when Jensen tells them to back off.

“I can do this myself. I tell you this every damn time. Don’t make me remind you again,” Jensen snaps, shoving past them to get to the stairs. He’s tired and he needs to sleep, among other things. Things including his hand and a visit from a fantasy Jared admitting how awesome _The Cowboys_ are, denouncing his sinful ways as he gets himself off on Jensen’s cock.

Fuck.

Of course, before he can even make it to his bedroom, someone _dares_ to call out to him from the first step. He rounds on them, tension-headache spreading down to his nose. There’s not a chance that it’s going to be able to wait until morning, is there? Jensen sighs and makes a face that entails they better spit it out quickly.

“I’m deeply sorry, sir–”

“Get on with it,” he orders, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Right away, Boss. Connor–”

“ _Who?_ ”

“The traitor?”

“Oh, him. What about him?”

The man clears his throat. Jensen doesn’t know his name, either. He’s not so good with names.

“I’m afraid it went deeper than we thought, Boss.”

So he won’t be going to bed anytime soon.

Fantastic.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt bad that I haven't posted anything in nearly a week, so I fast-tracked this chapter while I work on a Wincest oneshot for my Prompts thing. Which, feel free to vote for! 
> 
> It's just been so hot here the past few days and the heat drains the life out of me. 
> 
> Anyway, warning for EXTREME SEXUAL TENSION AHEAD.

“What do ya’ want me to do, Jen?” Chris asks, looking like he’s losing the battle with constipation.

“I want you to shut up while I eat my breakfast,” Jensen replies, biting into a piece of toast. “Give me five minutes to wake my ass up, then you can ruin my day.”

Chris has this air that he’s going to protest, but drops it, falling into a chair two seats down from him. Jensen narrows his eyes at the server reaching out to take his plate, their body flinching away like they were playing with fire. They can take his plate when he’s  _ finished _ . A moment before then is a moment too soon.

As much as he didn’t want to think about it, Jensen couldn’t help himself, face souring as the sweet tingle of Jam morphs into an acrid, bitter pill to swallow. Not even imported stuff can break through his irksome mood. What were the chances? Part of him can’t believe that this is happening. He thought he held all the cards. Apparently that’s nothing but a fantasy, now. Other players are moving up and trying to hone in on his turf, promising his _f_ _ amily  _ things he  _ clearly  _ wasn’t offering them.

They want to challenge him. It’s funny, really.  _ Idiots _ . He’s not threatened. They’ve got practically nothing compared to him. He’s built his organization from the ground up, amassed a staggering number of loyal followers, controls an obscene amount of the state of Texas, as well as other parts of the world, all of which before he’s even ridden out the rest of his thirties. If he was in the business of blowing smoke up his own ass, he would say he’s a major player on the chessboard, and  _ they  _ would do well to remember that.

He didn’t get to where he is being some benevolent force of nature. Jensen’s had to get his hands dirty more than once.  _ Still does.  _ Every day presents to him a new challenge. At least his life isn’t boring, he guesses. It’s just bothersome for him to have to deal with this crap at the ass-crack of dawn, while not even the ear-grating birdsongs are  _ gracing  _ the Great State of Texas with their antagonistic lullaby. They just want the rest of the world to wake the fuck up with them; dicks.

Jensen can’t let this go. He’ll look weak if he lets it slide, so he’s going to have to round up anyone that may be feeding information to the other side and make a greater example of them. There haven’t been loose body parts strewn throughout cities for all eyes to see in a long while, but Jensen can make that happen, even if the idea turns his stomach.

Not that it matters. He’s used to it by now.

Seen far too much carnage for one lifetime. He’ll probably see a lot more. Hell, he’ll be the one pulling the trigger or pushing the knife just past the point of lethal. Jensen lives by the policy that if he can’t do the job himself, he can’t expect anyone else to do it for him. And he’s instilled that in all of those that follow him, hanging on to his every word like it’s some type of highly addictive narcotic. Jensen doesn’t truly understand that part. He’s not complaining, though he could do with less underage loyalists undressing him with their eyes the second they see him walk through the doors. That’s just wrong… On so many different levels.

So is having underage followers, but that doesn’t seem to stop them from latching onto him like a lifeline, their parents filled with pride as they teach them the ways of the game. Jensen hates that. Hates that he has, virtually, child soldiers at his beck and call. The only reason he allows children to be brought into the life, is that they will not be part of  _ any  _ of the below the table stuff until they’re fully grown adults. Just because  _ he _ started young, does not mean that they have to.

When,  _ or if– _ let’s be realistic–if he has kids someday, they won’t hold a gun or wrap their fingers around the handle of a knife a day in their life, if he has anything to say about it. And anyone that dares to go against his wishes will–

When Chris resembles someone about to spontaneously combust, Jensen throws the rest of his uneaten toast back onto the plate and snaps his fingers for it to be taken away from him.

“Talk,” Jensen gruffs, rubbing his temples.

“What are we gonna do?”

“Make an example of them.”

Chris nods, narrowly avoiding chewing on the end of his thumbnail. Seems he also thinks Danneel has spies stationed around every corner of the estate. Smart man. Always looking out for  _ her boys _ .

“Right. So, how?”

Jensen shrugs his shoulders and leans back in his chair, spreading his legs and tugging at his silk pants to untrap his balls. He fidgets on the seat, shoving a hand inside to relieve the itch, briefly wondering how one of Jared’s big ones would feel holding them in his palm, tickling them gently as he breathes all hot and moist over the swell of his cock, and—

“Jensen?” Chris snaps him back to reality, eyes seeking an answer Jensen’s not ready to give him. “What’s the matter with you?”

“Nothin’. My damn balls itch like a mother-fucker.”

Clearing his throat, Chris faces the wall. “Should we get you tested for crabs?” he asks, hiding a shit-eating grin. He thinks he’s hilarious.

“It needs to be enough that anyone that sees it will think twice before going to whoever they’re in league with,” Jensen says, pretending Chris hadn’t said anything, the sound of his scratching loud enough to be heard between the two of them. Fuck if he cares, though. Chris is a man. He understands. “I might have to call  _ him  _ in for this one.”

Chris shudders at the mere mention, fingers drumming on the table. “That guy gives me the creeps.”

“That’s the point,” Jensen agrees, finally withdrawing his hand. He has this primordial urge to sniff his fingers, dismissing it seconds later as he readjusts himself and offers Chris his full attention. “If anyone’s going to stop some type of revolt, it’ll be him.”

There’s a reluctance to the way Chris is holding himself. Jensen understands where he’s coming from. There’s a reason that  _ he’s  _ the last resort, after all.  _ He  _ gets under everyone’s skin, makes their blood turn to ice and their children’s children wish they don’t end up being born. Jensen remembers the first time he met him, how he had looked at him with so much apathy that Jensen temporarily forgot his own name. The man stared at him like he wasn’t even human. It was uncomfortable as all fuck. If someone came up to Jensen after having met the guy with a smile on their face, the first thing he would do is send them to the psychiatric ward, because they would clearly be in need of some help.

So, yeah… He’s not looking forward to seeing  _ him _ again, either. In fact, he’s going to do his best to not even have to be there–

“You’re not ducking out of it,” Chris tells him, ignoring the tick in his jaw at being  _ ordered  _ to do anything. “You need to be there. They have to see how  _ you  _ react to the  _ example.” _

“But I was plannin’ on eatin’ lunch that day,” he replies sardonically, huffing and folding his arms. " _ Fine _ . I’ll sit and watch.”

Jensen looks away as Chris wretches. Poor bastard.

“Good. I don’t think I can handle being in the same room as  _ him  _ without you.”

“How sweet. I love you, too, puddin’.”

Chris rolls his eyes, but his lips pull into a half-smile. He’s put up with his grumpy ass for far too long, it seems. Jensen’s never been what you would call a morning person. He’s hardly even part of the living even after two hours of walking amongst the rest of the mortals. He snaps when he hasn’t had his twelve hours, giving anyone and everything around him shit for even existing. Chris rolls with the punches, though, always there to ground him if he’s taking it too far. Which he has, on occasion. The amount of staff he’s had in tears just for crossing him on his way to the kitchen isn’t gonna be earning him any humanitarian awards, that’s for sure. Most of them know to give him a wide berth anyway, so it’s not all down to his uncharacteristically short fuse, when it comes to morning, that is. The rest of the time, he’s a lot laxer, chatting with low-ranks about their lives and shit, in those times when he doesn’t just want to keep to himself. Sometimes he wants to sit and ruminate on stuff, maybe even forget for a second that he has enemies coming out of his ass, all of which, wanting to see his head on a stick or something equally cavemanish, if that’s even a word.

“I’ll make the call,” Chris tells him, a hand on his shoulder reminding him that he’s always got a friend in this man. “Don’t forget to brush your teeth.”

“Yes, Mom.”

“If you need someone to wipe your ass for you, call someone else.”

Jensen hides a fond grin. “You should consider it a privilege.”

===

Jensen dares anyone to say otherwise as he leaves the house and hauls-ass to the tavern, hanging a different jacket on the hook. He takes note of the same  _ barfly  _ hung over the top, rolling his eyes as he passes before taking his seat from the night before.

Jared's setting a glass up in front of him seconds later. "And here I thought you wouldn't want to bother yourself with my hedonistic ass after last night," Jared says conversationally, face betraying his tone of voice.

“Trust me, this is my last resort. All the good shit is at my other house,” Jensen replies, wondering if that may have been too on the nose.

Apparently, Jared doesn’t even register it. “It’s decided then. I will poison your drink.”

Jensen honest to god laughs out loud. He needs it after this latest bombshell…

“What’s so funny?” Jared questions him, on the verge of letting go himself.

“If you knew anything about me, and the people I hang with, you wouldn’t say shit like that around me.”

A flash of curiosity passes Jared’s eyes, the words on the tip of his tongue, if the way his lips are twitching is anything to go by. Jensen thinks the stretch of them around his cock would be a work of art in and of itself. Then, a softness seeps into his eyes as he stares at him, appraising what they can see. His tailored suit. His professionally styled hair. Can probably smell his stupidly expensive cologne that Danneel bought him last Christmas. His flawless complexion, save for the lack of sleep. Jensen witnesses more than a few seconds spent on the slither of skin exposed by his first two buttons being undone, and the shimmer of arousal brought on by his full lips. Normally he detests knowing they’re being objectified, but he’d be lying if he said he’s not willing to show Jared exactly what they can do, for him.

For a good while, Jared continues to run his eyes over him, attempting to put all the pieces together and possibly coming up short. He reminds Jensen of Matt when the Fixer is narrowing down his options, contemplating which answer will piss Jensen off the least. More often than not, Jensen stifles the urge to throttle him and demand he just come out with it, fantasizing about doing just that as he seethes with an air of barely contained patience. Matt has a knack for never reaching that limit where Jensen loses his will to be civil any longer, and he’s, usually, pleased with his decision.

That’s why this is unprecedented. Jensen’s content to wait for however long it takes for Jared to come back to reality– _ back to him– _ sipping on his whisky and admiring the straining fabric around Jared’s folded arms. He clearly likes to work out. Jensen wants to see those muscles bulging as they pull strong thighs back until his knees touch his shoulders, keeping himself spread bare for Jensen to–

“Are you okay, Jensen?”

“I’m all good, man,” he replies, knocking his glass on the bartop. Jared refills it immediately, concern evident in his eyes. Hm. He’s the caring type. Cute. Those dimples are dangerous. “It’s nothing to concern yourself with,  _ heathen _ .”

“Just ‘cos you have a poor,  _ poor  _ taste in sports teams doesn’t mean we can’t be civil, now.” A bead of sweat runs down his face, and Jensen wants to pitch up and lick it off. Lick into that mouth, too. Grab that collar, crush their lips together and show him how a real man kisses. “If nothin’ else, I could suffice as a good earpiece.”

_ Or a good mouthpiece. _

Jensen shifts on the stool. This dude has him hard in his pants and they haven’t done anything other than talk. Maybe it’s been longer than he thought since he last had a good lay. He might have to consider texting Tom to meet him in his room when he gets home tonight, plugged and ready to go. He’s not gonna have the patience to prep him properly, but he’d rather Tom not be uncomfortable or whatever.

But he needs to fuck something wet and warm. That’s a no brainer.

“Oh, I get it,” Jared intones, as if he’s got all the answers.

“Get what?”

Jared smiles coyly at him, fanning his face with his hands and blowing out a breath. “My, oh my. Is it hot in here or is it just you?”

Jensen has no idea what he’s doing, but he can’t say that he hates it. There’s so much mischief roaming around in those…. green? Yellow? Blue? Hazel?–Jensen’s not sure yet. But those eyes are dancing with dormant mirth as he plays with a curl of his hair and bats his eyelashes. Jensen doesn’t know Jared well, yet, but he suspects that this isn’t representative of what he’s actually like–rather, it’s his funny, playful side that makes people feel at ease.

Maybe he thinks that because it’s working.

“You could do with a cold shower, I’m guessin’?”

“What makes you say that?” Jensen hits back, ignoring the defensive nature to his tone.

Jared leans on the counter, muscles bunching up as he laces his fingers, thumbs laying over/under their twin, respectively. Jensen sees the same pose, with a deep arch in his back, ass pushed out, big, juicy and round as he bruises it with his lips and teeth, starving tongue lathing over a furled, twitching pucker that closes around the tip as he–

“If you wanna be discreet about  _ that  _ bulge,” he starts, one ‘brow quirking, face impressed. “You might wanna wear black or somethin’.”

Jensen’s cock pulses its agreement, responding in kind to Jared’s praise. If he’s not careful, he’s gonna tear through these pants that cost more than Jared probably earns in ten years. Danneel would kill him.

“That’s just a banana in my pocket,” he replies, far more evenly than he thought possible. “Can’t leave the house without one.”

“Which house?”

Touche. So he  _ was _ listening.

“The one designed specifically to suit my potassium deficiency.”

Jared laughs at that, inching forward on his forearms, close enough for Jensen to reach out and touch if he wants to. And he fucking wants to. Jared takes in the state of his pants again and clicks his tongue, motioning his head to the drunkard not taking the hint that they need him to leave. Jensen could send a number on a line of text, having him removed  _ permanently,  _ but he’s not so sure Jared would like that.

Jensen growls low in his throat when Jared tucks his bottom lip between his teeth, heat in his eyes. He leans in, further, Jensen meeting him halfway, body igniting with each inch of space closed between them.

“If I wasn’t so sure my friend would have my head,” Jared says, leaving it up in the air as he sneaks glances at Jensen’s crotch, laced fingertips digging into the skin below his knuckles. “And, not to mention, you’re  _ one of those  _ people.”

“Hate sex is the best sex,” Jensen hears himself say. God, this man has him ready to blow when the fun hasn’t even started yet. “If you can’t fuck your enemies, the other side wins.”

“Hmm. You do look like you know how to use that thing. And if it’s even half as pretty as you are, well, I’d be in for a treat,” Jared replies, voice husky and dripping with sex. Fuck. A man after his own heart. “Been a while since I wrangled with one so…  _ thick _ .”

His briefs are gonna need a serious wash after this. Holy fucking shit,  _ that mouth _ .

“You do a lot of wrangling?” He’s hoping he’ll say no… Something about the idea of this God-like beast of a man giving a piece of himself to anyone else puts a bad taste in his mouth. It’s not as if he couldn’t round them up and make them eat lead if he wanted to, however… Something to think about,  _ for sure _ .

“Only the most worthy Stallions get to see how I ride.” Jared’s pupils have dilated, a need rising in them that Jensen wants nothing more than to alleviate. Anywhere at all… He would bend Jared over this bar in front of God and everyone, aiming the barrel of his gun at anyone that dared to even watch, shove him into the back of any of his cars, wrestle those clothes off his body and thrust into that enticing heat. Fuck. Jensen’s past the point of turned on. He’s dangerously close to soiling his pants, if truth be told.

“When do you get off?”

Jared grins cheekily. “After you.”

Jensen’s throat goes dry, breathing hard through his nose. “Sweetheart, if you don’t come on my cock, I’m not doing it right.”

Whether it was the  _ sweetheart _ or whatever else he said, Jensen’s unclear of, but there’s no mistaking the full-body shudder or slow drag of a pink, slick tongue sliding over full lips. _Mmph._

“I can’t.”

The admission feels like being thrown in an ice bath.  _ Dammit _ .

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” Jared clarifies, a blush spreading up his neck. Jensen wants to lick every millimetre of it. “I mean, dude, have you seen you? You’re like what God intended for every man–the one he put all of his love and care into crafting, and then decided it was all too much. To hell with the rest of us, right?”

A little over the top… But flattering. Still hasn’t gotten an answer as to why they can’t fuck six ways from Sunday. He wants to fill Jared with so many fucking orgasms that he leaks a drop of  _ his  _ release every time one cheek bounces as he walks, wants to fall asleep with his cock buried inside Jared’s idyllic body, spooning up behind him or tucking his head beneath Jared’s chin, listening to the beat of his steady heart as they both giveaway to sleep… Wants to wrap his arms around that slim looking waist at the kitchen table, nosing the back of his creamy neck as Chirs harps on about–

Wait, what? This is too much. He shouldn’t be thinking about Jared like this. He’s known him for all of a day. This is absurd. Back the fuck up, Ackles. Get your head out of your ass, accept that today isn’t the day and move on.

“I get it. Don’t worry about it,” Jensen finally replies minutes later, loosening his grip on his glass before he drains it. He slaps another superfluous amount of cash on the top, raps it with his knuckles, offers a reassuring smile and heads off to grab his coat.

“Wait,” Jared calls to him, but Jensen waves him off, repeating his last words to the door as he steps out into the cold air.

He takes out his phone and shoots Tom a quick text, absentmindedly sticking his middle finger up to the three black sedans parked on the side of the road. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MORE SEXUAL TENSION AHEAD.

Jared grips the base of his dildo tighter as he rides it, teeth worrying his lip, spikes of pleasure zipping up and down his spine between drags. It’s not enough, but it’s something. He needs something after that Adonis left him high and dry. Yes, he told him that he couldn’t, his sex drive having all kinds of nasty things to say about that–Jared understands that it’s partially; okay, fully, his fault for turning Jensen down. Still, he needs more than this synthetic cock sliding in and out of him right now. He wants the real deal… He wants that masterpiece of creation pushing all of his buttons until he’s nothing but a puddle of mush beneath him, writhing and bearing his neck for Jensen to stake his claim…

Woah.

So animalistic. Jared feels heady with it, ramping up the pace as he fucks down onto the solid mass, eyes squeezing shut as he envisions the tent in those, probably, unnecessarily expensive pants. This level of arousal must be unhealthy, pulling him in all kinds of directions, guiding his ass up and over the tip of the toy before taking it into his hole once more, picturing those hands squeezing his hips as Jensen snaps his own, shoving his face into the pillow, knees forcing his legs apart, rough grip on the back of his neck, a deep, bottomless growl emerging from that succulent, smooth throat as Jensen bucks and fills him with thick, violent streams of come.

“Fuck!”‌

Jared moans and clamps his teeth tight around his thumb joint, swallowing the vapid rumbles in his belly climbing their way up to the tip of his tongue. He can’t deal with his neighbour leaving him a note again. It was embarrassing enough the first time.

After a few more drags, and a collage of fantasy Jensen’s having their way with him in many varying degrees, Jared shoots his load into the pitfall of his hand, body slick with sweat and about ready to collapse.

Jared doesn’t know why he didn’t say yes. His body had been crying out for the man’s touch the moment he walked into the tavern. Logically, he felt that it would have been too soon to approach a subject of that nature. Jensen doesn’t strike Jared as the type to take kindly to someone blatantly coming onto him, however, he turned out to not have a problem with it at all. Jared would like to think that reaction is exclusive to him and no one else, but he’s not that much of a dreamer.

From the second the bell chimed, Jared felt the atmosphere shift and bend to the will of Jensen, confident in all of his movements, and Jared didn’t even seem to care that he rudely dismissed his regular… Who he still has no idea what to call. He got the sense that he was in the orbit of someone extremely powerful. It was in the way he walked, talked, held himself like others were meant to kneel for him.

And Jared would kneel, oh so willingly, in fact.

It’s been a minute since he came face to face with someone so otherworldly beautiful, in every sense of the word. Jared would venture to say he’s never met anyone quite so… Titillating.

That’s not a word he uses often. Accurate, though. Jensen has had this effect on him the instant he sat in front of him. Jared’s first assessment had him hot all over, jeans becoming increasingly tighter with each minute that passed in the man’s company. Watching those lips move is a violation of his human rights. The urge that sprung up within him to lean in and submit to those full, pillowy lips had his head reeling the entire time, sticking as close to the bar as possible so that Jensen didn’t see the interest hanging hot and heavy between his legs.

He knows that Jensen returns his attraction, but it’s not a good idea. There’s trouble that comes along with those bedroom eyes. There’s the risk of regret that follows that all-encompassing presence, demanding all of those that walk within his path to follow him, blindly. It steals the breath from his lungs just thinking about the strength that quakes beneath that sinful flesh.

Some of the things that Jensen said to him stroked his curiosity, especially the part about how the joke about poisoning his drink was made all the more amusing considering who Jensen hangs out with. Jared has to wonder what it means, imagining various scenarios where that line of thought would apply. It has him believing that Jensen might be some kind of bad boy and that sets off a whole new round of tingles erecting the hairs across his entire body.

He rather likes a bad boy…

Jared shakes his head, wisps of hair swishing on the scratchy sheets. It reminds him that he’s not going to be here for long. Soon he’ll have to go back home to his workaday life, dealing with his urges the only way he knows how.

When his friend Chad told him he treated sex like it was his next fix for the day, categorising it as the better the sex he was having, the longer he went before he needed another hit–Jared hadn't known how to respond. Mortification was his first reaction, interrogating Chad about how he possibly came to that conclusion, lips pulling tighter and tighter against his face as Chad spelt it out for him in full, comparing him to an average, healthy, well-adjusted man. He also prompted him to remember that he has not had a single relationship in his thirty years of existence.

At the time, it was eye-opening for him, and Jared’s still grateful that Chad delivered the blow in a way that didn’t leave him feeling like a waste of space. It still stung… Realising that it’s not–wasn’t uncommon for him to make eyes at someone at lunchtime, take them back to his place, and then go through four or five condoms before the moon rose. Sometimes with more than one person…. Having sex with multiple partners isn’t a bad thing–except when it is. Like when diseases and stuff happen, which is why Jared ensures they’re wearing a condom. No exceptions. But he really should be trying to find something real, right?‌

That’s what he thinks… Even if the idea of throwing a blanket over his regular while he hops over the bar, drops to his knees and inhales that fat, leaking, curved masterpiece sitting uncomfortably strained against Jensen’s thigh–shit. He needs to be careful. It’s been weeks since he last had sex with anyone. Three months was the goal he set out for himself, and he fully intends to go through with it–Jensen is making it a lot harder, though.

No pun intended.

Jared’s brought from his musings by his phone going off, hand reaching aimlessly for it. His nose crinkles in disgust when he realises he picked it up with the one he came on. Marvellous. Oh well. Cleaning his hand after the fact is what hindsight is for. Jared ignores the sticky sensation congealing on the spine of his phone, using his cleaner hand to swipe up to answer. Figures Chad would call when he went through his mind; some kind of Beatle Juice, mindreading bullshit if you ask him.

“What’s up, asshole?”‌

Chad arches a ‘brow at him and scowls. “Dude. You’re naked.”

“You love it.”‌

“I don’t wanna see your meat and potatoes.”‌

“Too bad. They’re here just for you,” Jared sing-songs, aiming the phone down at his sticky groin. Ew. “All primed and ready for ya’.”‌

“I’m hangin’ up.”‌

“Good, I was about to hop in the shower.‌”

Chad makes a frustrated sound that catches his attention. It’s not often that Chad isn’t… Chad. It will make sense later. So Jared angles the phone back up to his face, eyes filling with compassion, face softening.

“Chad, what’s up?”‌

“I’m in trouble,” Chad says, looking like he’s about to throw up. “I really fucked up, J-Jared.”‌

Throughout the time that he has known him, seventeen years, to be exact, he has seen Chad cry three times. The first time, it was when his high school crush dumped his ass the night of prom. Such a cliche. The second time, it was when his Dad lost the war with cancer… Jared cried with him that night. And the third time…‌Well, that's right this second, and Jared is stunned into silence.

He clears his throat, forces a smile and asks, “What can I do to help?”‌

===

Jared passes some girl her fruity cocktail, mind somewhere else. His conversation with Chad keeps playing on a loop in his head, distracting him from the job he’s supposed to be doing. It’s hard to focus when he keeps seeing those uncharacteristic tears sliding down those pale, deathly afraid cheeks. It hurts Jared’s heart to see his friend like that, not being able to wrap him up in a warm hug in an effort to make him feel better, at least marginally… He’s always been a good hugger.

So Chad somehow got himself caught up in something. He… Ratted on the mob. Hm. Not his best move, if Jared’s honest. Jared didn’t even know Chad was involved with the mob–so many new things coming to light. He would laugh about it if he didn’t see Chad being shot dead by a haunting silhouette stood behind his kneeling form, waiting for the signal of approval from an unseen force. The imagery makes him feel sick. And… afraid. But mostly sick. What was Chad thinking getting mixed up in something like that?… And ratting on them?‌ It’s a universally acknowledged thing that you’re more likely to live having killed three or so members of an opposing family than you would if you snitched. Snitches don’t just get stitches in this world. They end up in the morgues.

That’s where Chad’s going to end up if he doesn’t think of something… But what can he do? He doesn’t have any connections to the mob. He doesn’t know anyone that could help them… He doesn’t have power, standing or anything to offer the… What was it?‌ Oh, that’s right. The Ackles Syndicate. Apparently their leader is some young, hotshot that started off with a couple of friends, and then somehow conceived something that would one day have everyone and their mother pissing their pants at just the utterance of its name.

Like he who shall not be named… Hm. He still needs to finish reading that.

If he knew who the boss was, he’d try and get a meeting with him, as much as the idea makes him want to shit himself, after one quick google search that told him far more than he ever wanted to know about the man. He’s been around the block, let him tell you… It’s estimated that he has a kill count somewhere in the three-hundreds, though weird-ass fangirls and boys insist that the number is a huge leap, considering it’s reported that he only kills if he needs to, and he rarely has to do the work himself these days, what with running every other part of it from one of his many estates.

Jared shudders. How would he ever get a sit-down with a guy like that?‌ The most distressing part is that he doesn’t give second chances. Because, well, that makes this whole saving his friend thing ten times harder than it needs to be.

He has to give it a shot, regardless of how he feels. Chad would do the same for him without even batting an eyelid, so all he has to do now is find out where this elusive guy lives and knock on his door. Of course…, if things were that simple, then Chad would never have found himself in this mess in the first place.

Furrowing his brows in concentration, Jared leans on the bartop, weighing his options. Sources say that the main base of The Ackles Syndicate is right here in Austin… At least he’s on their home turf. Now he just has to figure out where they live. Hm… Maybe Jensen knows? He looks like he’s seen a thing or two in his life. And he does live in the area–surely he’s heard something about the Ackles?‌ Jared rubs a hand down his face and grabs a glass to absently polish, eyes ticking to the door, hoping to see another overpriced jacket falling on a hook as bow-legs clear the space to get to the stool in front of him.

He’s not going to tell Jensen that he’s reserved the stool for him. That would look desperate. And he’s not desperate. Just… Jensen likes the stool, obviously. Or he wouldn’t have parked his fine ass there two nights in a row. There are other seats, after all.

Jared stops his thoughts before they rip him from his mission. He’s supposed to be coming up with ways that he can help his friend out, not thinking about bracing his hands on those powerful thighs as he bounces his ass on–

Get it together. dude. Jesus. He’s not that hot… Okay, maybe he is, but enough is enough.

Discreetly, Jared cuts his eyes to the clock, noting the time. It was around about now that Jensen came in the last two nights, so if he’s gonna come by today, he should be here soon. It’s busier than it has been, what with it being ladies night, which has Jared nervous that he won’t show… Jensen doesn’t seem like he likes to be around a lot of people. Shit. If he didn’t think it would get him castrated, he would shut up early and wait for him outside in the frosty breeze. But, y’know, he wants to keep his crowned jewels, thank you very much.

Aside from his unquestionably good looks, Jensen’s… Cool. He’s got a good sense of humour, he’s quick-witted, has the physical composition that speaks of someone able to hold their own–could even give Jared a run for his money, and not a lot of souls can say that they can do that. Jared’s not a fighter… But some naked wrestling wouldn’t go amiss–

Focus. Gotta stay focused. Jared tugs on his collar and places the thoroughly polished glass on the rack, leaning his hands on the shelf below the optics. His shirt stretches too tight across his back and he feels eyes on him, sending a pleasant timber thrumming through his system. Hm. Is that the man he’s been waiting for? A grin stretches across his face, stepping back on one foot to highlight the shape of his ass to whoever may be looking. The phantom stare intensifies and Jared’s stomach goes tumbling as he reaches up to grab the bottle of Rangers Creek, two fingers hooking onto two tumblers before he turns around.

Instead of the I-wanna-fuck-you-six-ways-from-Sunday shamrock green eyes, Jared registers, with increasing disappointment, that it’s just some dude. He’s got a nicely shaped face and all, but once Jared saw Jensen and his statuesque, well, everything, lesser mortals pale in comparison. Now that he thinks about that, it could be some type of problem… What’s he going to do when he goes back home and doesn’t have a Jensen there waiting for him? Jared scowls and digs his fingers into the glass, lips morphing into a congenial smile when he remembers there’s a customer waiting to buy a drink.

“What can I get you?”‌ Jared asks, wide-grin and easy-breezy ploy masking his wanton resentment that he can’t stay any longer than five more days.

The man opens his mouth to ask for his drink, head snapping to the left as the bell rings, bringing with it that unmistakable demanding presence. All eyes seem to move towards it at the same time, watching in earnest as Jensen hooks another jacket that would give normal people a heart attack at just seeing the likely bank-breaking price tag, adjusting his cuffs before strolling to the barstool.

Jared makes eye contact with him then, air leaving him at breakneck speed, lungs practically shrivelling up by the time Jensen has taken his seat, gaze flicking to the random customer, distaste flashing through those eyes as he narrows them at him.

“Beat it,”‌ Jensen says, returning his gaze to Jared as soon as the words have left his mouth. Jared can do nothing but stare dumbfounded, shocked into a stupor as the man Jensen addressed made an I-just-peed-my-pants face and legged it back to his table, without buying a drink…

Jensen doesn’t seem bothered at all, flashing a grin as he raps his knuckles on the bartop, snatching Jared out of his daze. He lines up the two tumblers and fills both, pushing Jensen’s over to him, their digits touching for the briefest of moments as Jensen takes it off of him. Jared feels heat crawl up his neck and darken the tips of his ears.

“You’re back again,” Jared says, feeling stupid.

Jensen nods his head and twitches his lips, curling his tongue into his mouth. Jared wants to chase it. “That I am.‌ Consistency is key to conversion, after all.”

“The conversion camp I was dropped off at when I was twelve couldn’t do it. What makes you think you can?”‌

It’s meant to get a laugh out of him, but there’s a well of righteous anger swimming in those hypnotic eyes, jaw ticking and top row of teeth sitting heavily on their lower half.

“That never should have happened, Jared. I’m sorry you went through that.”‌

“It’s not a big deal…”‌

Jensen’s fingers flex before he reaches out and grabs Jared’s hand, his hold firm and reassuring. “It _is_ a big deal. No one should ever have to go through something like that,”‌ he tells him, thumb stroking over his knuckles. He pulls his hand towards pillowy lips and kisses him like a true gentleman. Jared’s face heats up and he wishes he had a bucket to dunk over himself. “My friend committed suicide at one,” Jensen adds, tone resembling that of someone placing their order for their regular coffee.

Jared leans in until their noses are almost brushing. “I’m so sorry, Jensen. That’s awful.”

“It is,‌” he agrees, releasing Jared’s hand to curl his own around the back of his neck, thumb sweeping over his pulse point. “Now that we have the place to ourselves, maybe you can tell me why you’re denying yourself what your body is clearly crying out for.”‌

It hits him, then… How quiet it suddenly became, how the distant sound of the bell ringing more than once went in one ear and out the other. In the brief time that they have been chatting, the tavern emptied out completely, all chairs abandoned, some drinks still half-drunk resting on top of sticky looking tables. Jared’s confused… When the hell did that happen?

Another thought occurs to him then. That random dude from earlier looked terrified standing next to Jensen… Does that have something to do with–hang on… What happened to his customers‌?‌

“Who are you?”‌ Jared hears himself asking, eyes drawn to those sinful lips as they stretch into a salacious smile.

“Right now, I’m the guy that wants you to get on your knees and suck my dick.”

Jared ignores how turned on that statement has him, focusing his attention on the wealth of power this stunningly handsome man must have to be able to clear a tavern, have people shitting themselves after two words leave his mouth, and–suck his dick, huh?‌ Hm. No. Get it together. He’s hopeless…

“You’re not gonna make me do it.‌”

Jensen shakes his head. “Of course not. But not even the barfly is here right now, so what’s your excuse this time?” There’s a hint of butthurtedness in that accusation. Jared gets it. He does. He didn’t want to say no either!

“Tell me who you are and I’ll consider it,”‌ he says proudly, pitching forward just enough to graze their lips. Jensen makes a deep sound in his throat that nearly crumbles Jared’s resolve then and there, fingers itching to reach down and tease the outline of that scrumptious looking cock. “It would be a mistake to pass up on… all of this,”‌ he flirts, retreating to pull his shirt up high enough to show off his toned stomach. Jensen bites his lip and eyes the exposed flesh, the ravenous hunger darkening those mesmerising eyes doing things to Jared that are probably illegal in fifty states.

“ _When_ I have you, I’ll show you why it’s a mistake to pass on _me,_ ”‌ Jensen replies evenly, the relative ease to his words belying the flagrant longing causing his hands to vibrate. “I‌ texted my friend to have his ass plugged and ready for me when I got in last night, but when I got to my room, I decided against it. I told myself the next time I‌ come, it’s gonna be when I’m balls deep inside you.”‌

Jared pants and wrings the bottom of his shirt, chest heaving, throat burning with want. The one thing stopping him from telling Jensen to get his ass around to this side of the bar and fuck him already is the distress that he heard in Chad’s voice over the phone. He needs to do something to help him–Jensen clearly has power; people fear him for some reason. That has to mean something.‌

“And I want that… _Fuck_ , I want that…”

“Then what are you waiting for?” Jensen teases, downing his drink, the _ahh_ of satisfaction a little too exaggerated, and a little too sexy. “I’m good to go anytime, Jared.”

“Jensen…”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

Jared lets go of his shirt and leans back on the bartop, close enough to reach out and touch. Jensen doesn’t break eye contact as he grabs one of his hands and brings it to his mouth, licking around the tips of his fingers, a moan emanating from a creamy throat, lips suckling the grooves.

God. This man might be the death of him.

“Um… Uh, do you, um–do you know about The Ackles Syndicate?”

Jensen arches one, of course, perfect ‘brow and takes Jared’s middle finger into his mouth, sucking so hard the blood circulation is cut off entirely. He releases it with an obscene pop, a pointed look aimed at the tent in his trousers. “I don’t suck cock often, but I’d be happy to suck yours.”‌

“Please– _fuck,_ answer?‌ Please?” Jared babbles, losing the will to hold on.

Luckily, Jensen decides to have mercy on him. Thank goodness.

“I founded them.”‌

Wait… Did he hear that right?‌ Jensen founded them? Jensen is the boss?‌ Holy shit. Holy mother of shit. This is perfect, right? He just has to somehow–somehow what?‌ Jensen doesn’t give second chances, according to the internet. It’s one and done with him, so what can he do exactly? Jared’s been enjoying the man’s company, and he would hate for him to think that he was only being nice to him because he could probably have him killed instantly if he wasn’t… Well, yeah.‌‌ There is that part of it. It’s scary to think that this man could make a call, and he would be dead by morning.

It’s also extremely arousing, but that’s getting off-topic.

Jensen is the damn boss of The Ackles Syndicate.

Shit.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm actually really happy with how this turned out! :D 
> 
> Enjoy <3

The words came out of his mouth before he could stop them, and something akin to regret settled like a heavy weight on his chest the moment he realized the shift in Jared’s composure. It’s not as if he hadn’t been expecting a negative response to the information. After all, Jensen may have considered having Jared committed himself had he not at least reacted to being told he’s sitting in front of one of the most powerful men in the United States of America. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt, however, to be met with visible indications of Jared’s fear, with the gooseflesh rising along his arm, the quiver of his finger as he reaches for his own glass, the timid set to his eyes as he contemplates what he should say next.

Jensen’s used to people changing their demeanour upon coming to terms with who it is they’re talking to. For the most part, he’s never minded. It certainly gives him a thrill to know that he has such dominium over people who don’t even know him from a hole in the wall. He even comes to expect it, like with Jared’s customers ducking out with their tail between their legs thanks to Chris glaring at them heatedly from the door. That’s all they needed to see and they were gone, leaving him to his own devices, just he and Jared.

He hadn't planned on clearing out the place. When he arrived, he saw that Jared was having a busy night, so he sent a line of text to Chris, waited less than ten seconds for Chris to run to him from the back of one of the black SUVs, both of them pretending that he hadn’t been following him the entire time, and then he entered the place like he owned it while Chris took care of anyone that wasn’t Jared.

Once they were alone, he planned to seduce the man, hoping to have him writhing on his cock within the hour if at all possible. He’s certain that had Jared not asked him who he was, they could have gotten there. His little show had been getting to him, that much was obvious. Jensen saw the way he had been reacting, the visible tent in his jeans that Jensen wanted nothing more than to press his hand against, own that part of him just like the rest of his gorgeous body.

Unfortunately, the likelihood of them going there went down the drain once he told Jared he was the leader of a _criminal_ organisation. He can’t blame him, of course. It’s a natural response. Fear, that is. But Jensen can’t help feeling disappointed—let down almost, by his own initial assessment of Jared. He had pegged him for someone that wouldn’t lose their shit at the information, especially since Jensen had never done anything other than flirt and have a chat with him, and has zero intentions of ever hurting Jared or allowing any miserable fuck to do the same.

It’s truly disappointing. They could have had some fantastic times together. Jensen wanted to have his way with Jared in every room of his many houses. He wanted to strip him bare, taste all of that skin, bend him to his will and fuck the memory of any man that came before him out of his body, until Jared only had room for the taste of Jensen’s cock, the feel of it pushing inside him, stretching him out. The scent of their bodies grinding together in ecstasy, sweat and come ripe in their noses as they kissed between bouts of intense, aggressive sex that left them both feeling boneless. Jensen wanted to _own_ this man, ruin him for all others, show him a world where he wants for nothing and wakes up eager for the day ahead.

Jensen wanted to wake up next to him, tangled in each other’s limbs. He wanted to lean over or tilt his head up, kiss Jared into consciousness, start slow before ramping up the pace to a maddening degree, nothing but desperation heavy in the air as they fought to get the other off first, Jared’s hole spasming around his cock, working overtime to drain Jensen of everything he has in him. But Jensen had no plan on getting there first. No, he would work his ass and hips until they protested the strain, pushing up and into Jared, the muscles in his arms throbbing as he would have pulled Jared down to meet his thrusts, urging to him to come between kisses, finally grinning in satisfaction when he felt the first splash of Jared’s potent, hot release on his chest.

The scariest part is that he wanted more than just _that._ He wanted to sit with him at the kitchen table, enjoying a comfortable silence while they ate their breakfast/lunch/dinner, Jared’s company the only one he could see himself appreciating at the ass crack of dawn or whenever he decided to wake up that day.

He wanted to take him to the movies, threatening the ticket-person with a vague comment that they should take to mean it would be a mistake to allow anyone else in the theatre with them.

Long walks on the beach, the sea's current falling over their feet as they walked along, hand in hand. He would want for them to be _alone,_ but he’s not stupid enough to believe that Chris, Danneel, or pretty much anyone who actually talks back to him would allow that. They would have kept their distance, though. Jensen would have made sure of it.

Candle-lit dinners at the finest restaurant in Paris, just the two of them and one trusted wait staff. Well, one that Jensen would have carefully selected for their meal.

Jensen wanted to show Jared the world… Show him that it was all his for the taking, by Jensen’s side, ruling it from the shadows. Everyone would fear them, afraid to even speak Jared’s name without the consequence of losing the ability to say anything ever again.

It’s disturbing how little he would care about crushing someone’s voicebox if it kept Jared’s name out of their mouth. Someone saying his name shouldn’t be a big deal to Jensen, but he feels the anger welling up inside him at the mere thought of someone saying it heatedly/flirtatiously/longingly. Perhaps, if his need to have Jared all too himself gets too out of hand, he might find himself exacting such punishment for even speaking of him casually.

As hard as it may be for the world to take him at his word, Jensen’s not a _violent_ man. He doesn’t live for bloodshed, nor does he encourage it. Something about Jared is bringing out the animal inside him, the one that sleeps until he’s needed for something Jensen doesn’t want to deal with.

He about nearly beat the everloving shit out of that _pest_ for staring at Jared with lust in his eyes. Jensen had seen where his eyes were directed, and he wanted to grab the nearest spoon he could find and gouge them out of their sockets, maybe even make him eat them for daring to think he has the right to _ogle_ Jared’s ass in his presence or otherwise.

His new attitude is something to keep an eye on, for sure. He doesn’t want to disembowel every person who directs their attention at Jared, not really. But the monster in him does. It wants to do so much more. Things Jensen’s never even imagined. If truth be told, he would rather not have those images in his mind for the rest of his life if at all possible.

Not that any of this matters. Jared’s afraid of him now. His dreams were dashed the instant he told the truth. That doesn’t mean he’s not going to at least try to salvage something.

“Why do you ask?”

Jared flinches, stealing Jensen of his ability to breathe for a few beats. He’s _terrified_ of him. The hurt that sours the taste in his mouth isn’t something he’s expecting, nor is he expecting the heat creeping into his eyes, vision misting over for a brief moment before he clears his throat.

Fuck. Thinking Jared’s scared of him and seeing it are astronomically different in their effect on him. Having the idea in his mind caused a knot to form in his stomach. Witnessing the colour draining from his skin and the panic in his eyes makes Jensen wish he never took his first breath.

He averts his eyes, unable to look at him. Using the reprieve to down his drink, Jensen points to his glass for another one, hoping the familiar gesture will snap Jared out of his fear-induced stupor.

It has the desired effect, sure but shaking hands tilting the bottle to fill the glass, repeating the same on his own.

The desire to run away and never look back is far stronger than Jensen thought possible. He just can’t bear to see how fucking scared of him Jared is anymore. He holds strong, though. Jared must have asked him for a reason, so he’ll wait to hear him out, at least. Then he’ll take his leave, promise Jared he won’t bother him again and get the fuck out of here.

After what feels like an eternity to Jensen, Jared finally speaks.

“I… Uh, shit. Sorry. Um, my… My idiot friend—he, um… Oh God. Um, fuck—”

Jensen’s not sure why he does it, the uneasiness in Jared’s words spurring him on to take the man’s hands in his own and run his thumb over the knuckles, almost reverently.

“Jared, _please,_ ” Jensen starts, throat so tight he can hardly get the words out. “I’m not gonna hurt you. You can speak freely.”

There’s an obscene amount of tension in Jared’s shoulders as he takes in a breath to try again, slightly more clearer this time.

“My dumbass friend is in trouble,” Jared blurts, hands flexing in Jensen’s grip. He squeezes them, not sure why he’s bothering to hold out hope that they could pick up where they left off earlier. “With you,” he adds, not meeting Jensen’s eyes.

“Look at me, please,” Jensen requests, stroking his knuckles again. “Please, sweetheart. I don’t want you to fear me.”

“I’m sorry,” Jared replies with a gasp. “I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean to—”

“Stop,” Jensen says tightly, lowering his head until his forehead presses against their closed hands. “I don’t care if the rest of the world thinks of me like I’m Hitler or something. But I don’t want _you_ to _ever_ think your life is in danger around me. Please, Jared, I can’t take looking at your face right now.”

There’s a long pause.

“Do I have a booger?” Jared jokes.

It’s weak. Jensen’s sure they both know it. Jensen lets go of his hands, deciding there and then that there’s no point playing this game anymore.

“All right, Jared. Who’s your _dumbass_ friend?” he questions, eyes narrowed, casual demeanour all but vanished as his walls go right up. “I’ll need a name to know who the hell you’re talking about.”

Jared’s eyes tell him that he’s sensed the change, that he’s conflicted as to whether or not it justifies his earlier ramblings.

“Chad Michael Murray, is his name,” Jared supplies, curling his hands around nothing, as if he’s gripping onto the phantom weight of Jensen’s hand. Jensen snorts at his own thought, and Jared must take it to mean he needs more. “He’s blonde, hazel eyes, about six feet—”

“I know who you’re talking about. I make it my business to know everyone who works for me,” Jensen says, devoid of emotion. “What did the scrappy little runt do?”

Jared doesn’t seem to take offence to his word choice for the man, meaning he’s probably had similar thoughts.

“Shouldn’t you already know?” Jared challenges, a little bit of fire returning to his eyes. Jensen feels his cock stir and deflate just as quickly, the fire burning out as if surrounded by nothing but water. “I mean, um… Y’know, since you’re the, uh, boss an’ all.”

“The fact that you know means he didn’t just rat on one of my guys. He also told someone outside of the business about what we do.”

“Shouldn’t you be denying all involvement?”

Jensen smirks. “You won’t say anything. You’re not just a pretty face, after all,” he says, leering openly, then schools his expression. “It’s a shame I won’t get to see it twisted in pleasure.”

Disappointment flashes through Jared’s eyes. “Okay,” he replies, looking away from him. “So are you going to kill him?”

“Is that what you want me to do?” Jensen deflects, a grim smile on his face. “All it would take is one phone call.”

“Of course not. He’s my best friend.”

Jensen scowls at the information, a pit of jealousy emptying the space where his stomach once resided. “Maybe you should reevaluate your taste in friends. I mean, he’s got you speaking to the boss on his behalf. That’s like Mommy fighting your battles for you.”

“He’s scared,” Jared tells him, bluntly.

“So are you,” Jensen retorts, gesturing to the cold sweat breaking out on Jared’s forehead. “I don’t really like cowards much, Jared. I have to be honest with you about that.”

“He said he’s not high enough in rank to get in contact with you.”

Jensen sneers. “That’s an excuse. Anyone can get in contact with me if they go through an intermediary,” he answers, yawning into his hand, bored with this conversation about a man who doesn’t even have the guts to face him himself. “What do you want me to do, _Jared_?”

“I know you don’t give second chances, but maybe I can convince you that he just made a mistake and—”

“Look, man, a mistake is flushing the toilet when someone else is in the shower. A _mistake_ is saying someone else’s name when you’re having sex. A _mistake_ is not doing anything when you know it’s the right thing to do. What your _friend_ did was not a mistake. He _intentionally_ fed the other side information that got one of my people killed. He may not have known that it would have gotten her killed, but he willingly handed her her death. That is the difference.”

Jared’s expression softens, head lowering in respect for the fallen. It’s a good look on him, but Jensen dismisses it. This is all business now.

“I’m sorry that that happened. Truly. I don’t think he knew that anything like that would have come of it, and none of us can bring her back… But, please… _Please_ don’t kill him.”

Jensen eyes the stunning man stood in front of him, hiding a nervous disposition behind a wry smile. He can see that his shoulders are tense, his eyebrows desperately trying to remain relaxed and open. It's unnerving to watch.

Disappointing, even. Just when he thought that he was making a connection with someone, that someone was looking at him--really looking at _him_ , and not the power and standing his name represents--now that person can't even hold eye contact without looking like they're about to shit themself.

It's sad, really.

What's sadder is that he's still going to help their friend Chad because even though this will be the last time he sits in front of him, the idea of fucking Jared all but forgotten with that look of fear on his face, the past few days were still some of the best that he's had in a long time...

Hell, maybe even his whole life. Oh, well. It doesn't matter. He owes it to him to at least call off the hit on his friend.

Jensen clears his throat, straightens his collar, stands from his chair, throws more money than necessary down on the bar top for the last time and says, "Consider it done, Jared. I thought maybe we had something here, but maybe I was wrong."

Jared sputters in response at first, tripping over words, body shaking almost violently. Jensen can’t tell if it’s from fear, relief or frustration. But it’s enough to solidify for him that he’s making the right decision walking away. It’s better this way. He doubts he’ll ever meet someone who has his body vibrating with want the way this man does. Maybe he’ll find someone close to it, someone he doesn’t mind having over on the weekends, someone to satisfy an itch.

He snorts. Tom’s available, after all.

The thought has his stomach turning, his cock retreating into him as he imagines it. What used to at least have him half-hard and ready to pound out his frustrations doesn’t even touch the sides anymore, quickly replaced with Jared spread bare for him to get his fill. The only thing stopping his cock from rising to the challenge the catch in Jared’s throat as he stares him down, drinking in one final look of him.

Anger claws at him for being so weak. He should be barricading himself, walling off all weak spots. He should look at Jared like he’s not worth his time, snub him and get on with his life. Years and years of perfecting these facades have gifted him with attitudes to tap into to get him through any situation. This time, all he wants to do is fall to his knees, place his head on the ground and vow that Jared never has to even entertain the idea that he would let anything bad happen to him.

He can’t do that. People are always watching. Jared would become a target, tugged back and forth between Jensen’s enemies, and he would fold like a cheap suit if it meant Jared’s freedom.

A fierce need to drag Jared to one of his safehouses kicking and screaming nearly cripples him. He ignores it, managing to diminish it to a low rumble in his gut, an ache forming in his side as he finally shows Jared his back, done soaking up the last of his rays.

His shoulders are straight and true as he walks, gait strong, powerful—demanding. He doesn’t paint the picture of a man who just found out he has but an hour to live, but that’s how it feels as he hears the bell ding over his head for the last time, no voice crying out for him to come back following him through it. There’s nothing but silence. And it’s enough to cement that this is right. This is what he should do. Jared’s a good man, he doesn’t need him or his baggage.

He’ll be safer this way, he tells himself, snatching his jacket off the hook, one foot already out the door.

The pain in his gut intensifies as he pauses halfway to freedom—or maybe anywhere else but with Jared is nothing but an oxygenless hellhole he’ll have to suffer through alone for the rest of his life—and he opts to turn his head once, keeping his tone as casual as he can afford to be as he says, “Take care of yourself, Jared. I won’t bother you again.”

And with that, the bell signals his exit, having swung back a touch from the nudge of his heel.

His first breath of fresh air is like heavy black smoke coiling in his throat, slowly killing him as he walks further and further away from the one person he wants to be with.

Jensen hates Thursdays.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you have some water or an ice pack with you because it's about to get steamy in here. ;D

Jared has no clue how long he stood behind the bar staring at the vacant stool where Jensen once sat, wondering what happened to his grasp of the English language, berating himself internally for not being able to use his words to utter even so much as a thank you for sparing Chad’s life, among other things.

Finding out that Jensen is not only ridiculously hot, but also ridiculously powerful and could probably throw Jared around like he’s nothing and pound away at his body until all he knows is the sensation of Jensen’s cock splitting him open had the effect of freezing Jared on the spot. Of course he’s intimidated. Jensen’s a freaking mob boss. A freaking sexy, fine-assed mob boss who sucked on his fingers and stared at him with those _eyes._

Jared was scared. Yes. He will admit that. But he was also turned on. So much so that words were not an option. Moving was not an option. If he had moved, he would have been begging Jensen to fuck him stupid against this bar and not even care if anyone sees them. He still wants that. So badly. So badly his cock is in the middle of writing his last will and testament with copious amounts of pre-come into the cotton of his briefs. Ugh.

He’s such a moron. Jensen walked out thinking that Jared is so terrified of him that he can’t even bring himself to stare at his God-like face, when really he couldn’t look at him because he promised himself that he would go two months without sex and he wanted to keep that promise. But he’s so hot. He’s so hot it’s physically impossible for Jared’s hole not to clench around nothing with every word that he spoke to him, that voice setting a blazing fire underneath his skin, arousal thick and heady in his head and cock, balls achingly tight up against his body, ass hungry and eager for something to push up inside him—Jared wouldn’t have made it another five minutes.

What is he supposed to do now? Jensen walked out. Jared’s not going to do something idiotic like dash out of the bar, sprint down the streets, checking every corner until he spots a head of dirty blonde spikey hair. Jensen probably has people and cars… People and cars who can make people disappear—

Fuck, that shouldn’t be as hot as it is but Jared’s lip bleeds and he palms himself through his jeans anyway, thinking about Jensen sitting on the backseats of a town car, all dark and sinister as he grips tight to someone’s chin, letting them know with cold, calculating words that no one will hear them scream where they’re going.

Jared comes in his jeans with a shout, shoulders heaving, chest constricting. His neck throbs, jaw tightening as he gasps out breaths, running a hand through his hair and snapping off a curse. He hasn’t come in his jeans since he was fourteen and a senior pinned him against one of the bathroom stalls, their clothed dicks engaged in a heated, win-win battle that ended with a disgustingly messy pair of boxers—brand new ones as well.

Not that Jared minded. He came back the next day and sucked the guy's dick dry. And again the next day and the next and the next. God, he was an early bloomer. Probably explains a lot. Oh well. Can’t change the past. He can, however, sit on one of his dildos…

He doesn’t want synthetic. He’s bored of it. He wants the real deal. The real, fleshy, thick, potent, pre-come spilling, come shooting deal. Jared wants Jensen. Wants him to manhandle him, shove him into the wall, grip his hair in a vice grip, pull it back, attack his neck, mark him all over—get him bloody, crimson drops crying out of the wound of a deep, voracious bite. And then Jensen laps it up, tears the button off the front of his jeans clean off he pulls it that hard—Jared bolts to the door and locks it and then races to his bedroom, the door splitting the wall upon entrance. He pays it no mind, shucking out of his clothes as fast as he possibly can, hands shaking on the handle of the drawer. Jared wrenches it open and pulls out his thickest, most life-like dildo, deciding to name it Jensen there and then.

Settling on the bed, Jared allows the rest of his fantasy to play out. Jensen’s warm palm wrapping around his cock, stroking him while a deep, gravelly voice whispers filth in his ear…

_Gonna fuck you so hard, sweetheart. Gonna fuck you again and again until you can’t see straight._

Jared imagines Jensen’s hand furiously jerking his cock as he preps the dildo, pouring obscene amounts of lube onto it and settling on all fours, propping it behind him. He pushes it into his body in one smooth glide, sees Jensen’s strong, thick hands bearing down on his hips as he wrenches him back against him, getting impossibly deeper.

_Touch your stomach. Yeah, you feel that? You feel that, slut?_

Jared senses the phantom weight of Jensen’s cock fucking inside him, thumb stroking over the protruding head, envisioning his stomach jutting out from the force. He’s not sure how big Jensen is. And it doesn’t matter if he’s not horse-hung or whatever, but Jared’s free to think what he wants in his fantasies, and he wants Jensen to be big enough to visibly stretch his stomach.

His insides churn as he fucks back on the dildo, sweat breaking out all over his skin, cock renewed and full to bursting. He ducks his head under, watching the crown push out his navel, hole squeezing around it. Jared’s cock keeps up a constant stream of web-like spindles of pre-come, a puddle starting to form beneath him, arms crossing over and pillowing his head.

_Could just stay like this all day, huh? I bet you’d love that. You get off in it, don’t you, Jay?_

Jared groans his agreement to his fantasy Jensen, keeping the dildo buried to the hilt inside him, tears of pleasure beading at his eyes, toes curling up towards the ceiling, hips eeking out, spine dipping on a deep arch that slots the toy even further inside him.

_Come. Come for me, bitch!_

The inner demand hits him like a train. His body seises violently, spine bending, almost breaking, hole spasming around the dildo in his ass, cock pumping out thick, slick streams of come, staining the sheets, his arms, sticking to the fine hairs. He moans with it, watching fantasy Jensen snap his hips hard enough to steal the next sound out of Jared’s mouth, phantom cock filling him with rich, heavy spurts of come, Jensen’s rock hard, thick cock stretching out his hole with each fresh wave of his orgasm.

Jared's body shakes all over, limbs flopping like Jell-o as the dildo slips out of his ass. It thuds against the bed and Jared has the slightest presence of mind to move it out of the way before he throws his legs off the side of the bed and sags into the sheets, exhausted.

He falls asleep for a few hours, nose wrinkling the moment he comes to and realises he’s lying in a pile of come and sweat. Gross. Jared complains to no one in particular as he extracts himself from his bed, stumbling on shaky legs to the shower to rinse off, planning to sort his sheets out after that.

Well, actually. They’re his friend's sheets. So it would be disrespectful if he didn’t wash them. He also doesn’t want to sleep on soiled sheets, so there’s that, too. Regardless, he needs to shower. And he does, thoroughly scrubbing his body, carding soapy hands through his hair, increasing the pressure for his tight muscles.

It’s when he steps out with a towel around his waist that he remembers what happened the night before, regret slowing down his movements, his drying back pressing flush against the wall and head thudding on it. He can’t believe how lame he was in front of Jensen, not even knowing if any of the words that had come out of his mouth matched up with the ones in his head.

Some of what he said had been reflexive. That much he knew. The side of his brain that knew he was supposed to convince Jensen to not kill/or have Chad killed worked tirelessly to stay at the forefront, battling the desire bubbling beneath the surface. If it had been a glass of water, it wouldn’t have just been spilling over, it would have been shooting out like a fucking geyser. Luckily, he kept his cool. Maybe. He’s not sure. He doesn’t remember a lot of it.

He does remember the disappointment in Jensen’s voice, the hurt in his eyes, the sting of rejection when he turned his back and left. Jensen said that he wouldn’t bother him again. Jared _wants_ him to bother him as much as humanly possible, regardless of the fear. It’s scary, okay? The big bad wolf isn’t supposed to make Little Red feel safe or give her the warm and fuzzies. He’s supposed to make her little heart hammer away in her chest, paralysing her with fear.

But that fear is good. It’s intoxicating… Jensen is powerful. He’s a freaking mob boss and he wanted to suck Jared off. Jesus. That’s crazy, and Jared wanted those lips too. On him. Around him. Pulled tight around his rim. Ugh. He wants it all, every inch Jensen can give him, every finger—the _whole fist—_ Jared wants everything!

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why didn’t he say anything? Why did he stand there with his foot in his mouth, gaping like a fish, when he could have been thanking Jensen for sparing Chad's life with his body. Which wouldn’t be a problem for him. He would gladly give himself over to someone as unbelievably hot as Jensen, ready to drop his pants, bend over and take a pounding at the mere nod of Jensen’s head.

Fuck. He’s so gone he can’t even see the road anymore.

It’s not just the sex, either. As much as Jared wants to suck Jensen’s cock, he also wants to watch the game with him and tell him why his choices in life have lead him to where he is now and he needs to step into the light where they have cupcakes and a winning team. Not that that makes any sense to him. Probably. Who knows? The point is that Jensen doesn’t know shit about sports. Clearly.

Jared nods to himself, peeling his body off the wall and working on getting dressed. Game plan. He needs to talk to Chad, let him know that he’s off the hook and to stop eating Ben and Jerry’s like the Pillsbury doughboy is his life coach. Then he’s going to get him to set up a meeting, a meeting to thank Jensen for sparing his life. Jared will tag along, find out where Jensen is and then ride him hot and messy on the—

He means, ask him to give him a second chance to use the English language and communicate what he wants. Which is not the thing between his legs. Except that it is. But it’s not just that.

It’s not, he swears!

Shaking his hands like that will get rid of the image of Jensen groping and slapping his ass as Jared bounces up and down on his cock, he puts on a fresh pair of clothes after a smell test, sprays himself, collects his phone out of his jeans pockets, revels that it has enough charge and immediately dials Chad’s number.

Chad picks up almost immediately.

“You’re good. Jensen’s not going to kill you,” Jared says easily, laughing as Chad sputters. “Turns out your boss is the guy that’s been coming to the bar the past couple of nights. ”

“You’re kidding?”

“Nope,” Jared replies, popping the P. “About that. I need you to meet with him so I can redeem myself for acting like a total wuss when we last spoke.”

“Um, what?”

“You heard what I said. He’s not going to hurt you, so what’s the harm?”

Chad makes a disapproving sound. “Wait… You’re _into_ him?”

“You bet your ass I am. Have you seen him?”

“I’m confident enough in my sexuality to admit that he’s hot. But are you _fucking_ insane, Jay?” Chad spits.

Jared rolls his eyes. “He’s cool.”

“He’s a murderer.”

“He’s _hot_.”

“He’s killed hundreds of people.”

“He’s _hot_.”

“JDM fears him.”

“That doesn’t mean anything to me. And again, you’re missing the point. He’s hot and we talked about sports and other shit… and he flirts really well and I know he wants me—”

Chad goes ballistic. “He’s a cold-blooded killer who wouldn’t think twice about lopping the head off some innocent kid if it meant getting what he wanted,” he says harshly, breathing ragged. “I’m not gonna help you get with him.”

Jared groans. “None of that is proven. It’s a rumour. Rumours spread all the time, Chad. I’m not just gonna sit here and make assumptions about him,” he tells him, sternly, purposefully ignoring the fact that he’s standing. Chad can’t see him, anyway. “He might be done with me anyway, told me he wouldn’t bother me again or whatever, but I want to at least try since he was _nice enough_ to pardon you. Dick.”

“You’re not going to let this go, are you.” It’s not a question. Chad sighs. Jared waits. “Fine. I’ll see if I can meet with him… But, for the record, I fucking hate this idea.”

The urge to do a victory dance is stronger than Jared thought possible.

===

Chad Michael Murray’s assassination had been scheduled for three days from now. They were supposed to cut his wrists in a way that looked self-inflicted and wait for someone else to discover the body. It’s not an issue that they’re not moving forward with it, but now Jensen has to find another job for them to do since they flew in. It’s a serious pain in the ass but it’s not the end of the world.

The end of the world is already happening, for him. He barely even caught a wink of sleep last night. He’s bone-tired, cranky, and he just wants someone to mess up so he can yell at them. All they have to do is something reprimandable. Even as small as breathing in his general direction. Something he can blow his cap on and not feel like a complete asshole for—any excuse to let off some goddamn steam.

It comes in the form of some low rank. Harry, his name is. Not that Jensen cares. All he cares is that the idiot forgot to knock before entering. It doesn’t matter that the door is open. Jensen could be in the middle of something vital. He’s not. All he’s doing is sitting here, feeling sorry for himself. But Harry doesn’t know that.

“You think you can just barge into my fucking office, unannounced?” Jensen snaps, tipping his desk over and rounding on him, paying no mind to the files, machinery and other such shit crash landing. “Who the fuck do you think you are, you—”

“Jensen!” Chris barks from his perch, raising both eyebrows. “Get out of here,” he says to Harry, who looks like he shit himself. Jensen scowls at him, waving him off with a flick of his wrist. The poor sod darts out of his office like the devils on his ass. “What is wrong with you?”

“What isn’t?” he claps back, kicking his upturned desk like it’s its fault he’s so annoyed. “He didn’t knock.”

Chris rolls his eyes, the action almost audible. “No one knocks. That’s why the door is open. You _close it_ when you’re in a meeting. Or jerking off,” he says, making a face at his own suggestion. “Forget I said that.”

“Now, now, Chrissy. I know how much you want me,” Jensen replies, his attempt at teasing weaker than watered-down drinks at a mixer. “Maybe I have a new policy. _Everyone_ knocks.”

“Don’t be an asshole,” Chris reprimands him, taking a peek outside before closing the door with a soft click. “It’s about that Jared dude, right?”

“He was scared of me,” Jensen offers in way of answering. “Like, literally scared out of his Goddamn mind.”

“Really? Of you? You’re scrappy, not intimidating,” Chris jokes, grinning at him. He’s trying to lighten the mood. Jensen decides glaring at him is the way forward and Chris sighs. “You’re really gonna let this guy walk all over you? Since when do you bend for anyone?”

Jensen narrows his eyes further, sniffing at Chris’s accusation in offence. “He’s not _walking all over me,_ Nancy Sinatra. As odd as it might be for you to hear this, I don’t want someone who’s scared shitless of me!” he shouts, spinning on his heel to get control of his breathing. “Besides. He’s not built for this life. He’s sweet, far too nice for his own good. This life will eat him alive.”

“You’re the one that wants to eat him alive, dumbass,” Chris replies flatly, walking over to pat him on the shoulder. He’d normally find comfort in the gentle squeeze, even nod his thanks. Right now it’s doing nothing to shift his foul mood and they both know it. “For the record, I’m sorry, man.”

“Yeah, well… Shit happens, I guess,” Jensen says, shrugging Chris off. He offers one look of annoyance at the state of his floor, his eyes speaking for him as Chris opens up the door and calls for service. Jensen puts space between himself and the people entering his office, not trusting himself right now to not just start beating the shit out of anyone in reach. If that’s why Chris stays beyond his reach, neither of them mention it. “He touches down tomorrow,” he tells Chris, changing the subject after the cleanup crew leave them alone.

Chris’s face pales. “You’re right. His guest of honor isn’t looking too hot right about now.”

“I would think not. I told them to tell him _all_ the stories while he waits,” Jensen replies darkly. “Maybe I’ll even get in on the action. He’s a scumbag anyway so who cares?”

“That dude’s friend ratted, too, Jen. You know you’re gonna need a real good reason for not making an example of him. If JDM or Mark or Justine find out you pardoned anyone, they’ll smell blood in the water and strike.”

Jensen snorts, nonplussed.

“They won’t do shit. And you won’t, either,” he warns, tone ice cold. “Did you put together what I asked?”

Chris crosses his arms over his chest and huffs out a breath. “Yeah. I’m against that as well.”

“I’m aware.”

They lapse into silence. Jensen knows that Chris doesn’t approve of the unit he put together to keep an eye on Jared. They’re not supposed to interact with him. Their job is to remain hidden, undetected—unseen, and make sure that Jared is safe. And… okay, snap a couple of pictures for him from time to time. He said he wouldn’t bother him again. In no way is that him suggesting that he can’t do a little casual stalking, maybe hoping for some nudes. Lots of nudes.

So he may have scheduled to have someone put up hidden cameras in the bar and the apartment. And he may have tracked down Jared’s friend and had someone give her a boatload of money to fuck the hell off for the next few months. Jared’s a loyalist and he loves his friends, so he’ll agree to stay and keep the bar running. That’s something Jensen is sure of.

She had been surprisingly easy to find. Sandy, her name is, Jensen thinks. She posted something on Facebook with her last known location, so Jensen texted someone in the area her picture. They asked if he wanted her dead. He told them to keep that in their back pocket if she becomes a problem. It was a joke. He added the winky face and everything. Within an hour they found her window shopping. They approached Sandy, all business-like, shark grin smile and all, told her she was a special customer or some shit, gave her the money and then went back to their post.

According to the last text about her he received, Sandy booked a flight to Vermont. Jensen didn’t ask why. He doesn’t care. All he cared about was if she had told Jared and if he had agreed to stay longer. That’s the next bit of information that he’s waiting for. It also has something to do with the irritation that he feels—not knowing the answer is making his skin crawl.

“It’s a dangerous game you’re playing, Jen,” Chris remarks, his tone uncharacteristically soft. “I get that you’re hard up for this Jared guy, but it’s not a good idea to show weakness right now—”

“I appreciate what you’re saying, Chris, ” Jensen says, cutting in, not altogether rudely since he did raise his hand. “But I need to do this. I know it’s irrational, all right? Now that I’ve met him, I need to know that he’s safe and I can’t do that personally.”

“You could. You could just go back to the bar, tell him you’re not about to give up on this and do… whatever it is two guys do to each other,” Chris supplies, clearing his throat. “It might have been shock, for all you know. Power has an effect on people.”

Jensen doesn’t respond. Instead, he takes out his phone from his pocket, a frown pulling at his lips when a number blares to life on the screen.

“Ackles,” he answers tersely, conveying that they should get to the point from the off.

“Sorry to bother you, Sir, but I have a Chad Michael Murray looking to speak with you. He says it’s urgent.”

A look of flagrant disgust passes over Jensen’s face, nose crinkling from the phantom wave of noxious gas at the mention of the Rat’s name.

“What the fuck does he want?” he grits, hand aching from his grip around his phone.

“To meet with you, Sir. He didn’t explain why. He said that it’s vital that you meet.”

Anger explodes out of Jensen then, his body heating up from the rage festering inside him. His grip gets tighter and he slams his fist on the wall, throat clicking at the tear of flesh across his knuckles.

“Tell him if I see his face, he’s a dead man. He _won’t_ get a second chance,” Jensen orders, ending the call seconds later and tossing his phone at the wall, scowling at the shattered pieces. “Get me a new phone.”

Chris gives him a look like he doesn’t appreciate his tone, however, swallows down his protest when Jensen cuts his eyes to him like he’ll end up like that phone if he doesn’t move his ass.

Jensen watches him stride out of the room, letting out an almighty scream the second he’s out of sight. That Chad better watch his fucking step.

Promise or no promise, he _hates_ Rats.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I recently started a twitter account! https://twitter.com/TigaEasy Come follow me and talk to me about your headcanons! You might also see some possible teasers ;D 
> 
> What do you think it going to happen next? Who you do you think HE/HIM is? I know who it is. And I think it will be a surprise, but tell me who you think it's going to be XD 
> 
> Do you think Jared is making the right decision, ignoring that Jensen is a mob boss and has definitely got quite the kill count under his belt? 
> 
> Thank you for reading. :D I look forward to getting the next one out to you soon. It's all in the hands of the spinning wheel that I created to take away the decision from me. XD


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Jensen and Jared are so Goddamn horny. I'm the one writing this and I'M excited for the part where they finally get to have sex with each other. DX

The second _he_ enters the room it’s as if the air freezes, and Jensen swears he can see the frosted tint to his breath as it curls and floats towards the ceiling. _He_ walks with the precision of a man who’s seen it all, knows every outcome before the prophecy comes to fruition, has all blindspots covered, ready to strike out at the barest hint of a threat. All eyes watch as _he_ approaches, because, if they don’t they won’t be able to take in their next breath comfortably.

 _He_ stops in front of Jensen’s desk, eyes devoid of anything, secrets and lies under lock and key within their depths. Secrets that could kill them all. Secrets that could ruin anyone, leave them hanging out to dry, exposed for all the world to see them, judge them, chew them up and spit them out. Jensen feels like he’s under the microscope, keeping a neutral expression on his face that he knows is useless because _he_ knows everything.

The room breathes a collective breath as soon as _he_ takes his seat, posture perfectly executed. His body may look frail, and he may be closer to sixty years of age, but anyone would be a fool to underestimate him, lips set in a thin line, eyes impassive, waiting for Jensen to brief him on his mission.

“Mr J,” Jensen greets, holding out his hand for a shake. Mr J stares at it, considers him for a moment before connecting his hand to his. The touch is cold, leaves him feeling empty, distant. “Thank you for coming.”

“Please skip the pleasantries, Sir. There’s no need for us to prattle on about our days or bore each other with needless information. Why don’t you tell me what you would like me to do?”

Jensen clears his throat, tries to smile. It comes across as more of a grimace.

“Right. O-kay. Well, I’ve got a _flipper_ that I need you to crack, find out who the recruiter is. He’s been quiet. Real quiet. But he knows you’re on your way and we’ve told him enough stories to have him prepped and ready for your blind date,” he says, attempting a humourous grin at the end. Mr J raises one eyebrow and Jensen’s lips quirk back down. “I don’t want him to die. Yet. If we can flip him back he might be useful, but as soon as his usefulness runs out, it’ll be curtains for him.”

Mr J stands from his seat after collecting his briefcase off the ground, which Jensen is only now noticing. “Consider it done, Sir. Is there anything else because I would like to get started right away,” he rucks up his briefcase to accentuate his point, holding deep, unflinching eye contact that makes Jensen almost squirm in his seat. He can appreciate the artistry of Mr J but his people skills are something else.

Jensen shakes his head, waves his hand a little. Mr J nods tersely, leaving the room and loosening the snare on everyone’s throats. When the tail end of his jacket disappears from view, Jensen presses a finger to his pulse, surprised to find that it’s not as fast as he imagined or stopped dead in its tracks, which was the alternative.

It was a quick meeting. Jensen frowns, purses his lips together. Most of his meetings with Mr J are quick and equally as taxing but the speed of that one kind of makes him feel like he got dressed up with nowhere to go, standing at the doorway in his fine-ass tux, only for his date to appear at the top of his stairs in nothing but a skimpy pair of lace panties, tented up at the front… And then they turn around, show him the back end, and his eyes drop to the strip of fabric squeezed right between pert, round cheeks that he can’t help but dash up the stairs to, taking the steps three at a time, digging his knees into the top step as he bites, licks and sucks marks onto the fleshy mounds, grabbing handfuls, pulling them apart, nosing along the half-exposed crack and—

“Jen,” Chris calls, interrupting his fantasy. Jensen notices that he’s hard, licks his lips and casually glances over at his right-hand man. “Do you need me to leave you alone?”

Jensen thinks about it for a second. Sees himself licking over that strip in his mind, warring with the idea of moving it out of the way so he can get a lungful of the heady, musky scent of Jared’s—

“Yeah. Actually. _Yeah,_ get out,” he says, unclasping his belt before Chris is even out of the room fully. He spares the rest of the room a glance, nodding to himself when he’s armed with the knowledge that he’s alone, releasing his hard, leaking cock from his slacks. Fuck Armani. He can buy more suits. “Now, where were we, _sweetheart?”_ Jensen voices to no one at all, closes his eyes, licks his palm and starts a gentle drag up and down his cock.

_Jared’s ass jiggles as Jensen slaps two palms down on his hips, using his thumbs to spread his prize apart, eyes marvelling the fabric getting slowly eaten by the furled crease between the juiciest cheeks Jensen’s ever gotten his face between._

_And he gets his face between them, smothers himself, cuts off all air to his mouth and nose, getting lost and not even caring as he licks and sucks, thrusts his tongue, stabs, jabs, prods, pokes, lashes until Jared’s collapsing onto all fours, thighs shaking as Jensen squeezes the flesh of his ass, presses in deeper, tilts his head back a touch to breathe in deep through his nose, then goes right back to mouthing Jared’s hole._

_He lets out little deep sounds when Jared pitches forward. Little shit. Jensen tightens his hold on him to keep him still, tells him to put his fist in his mouth if he can’t shut up. Because suddenly they’re not at the top of the stairs anymore. No, they’re in a closet and it’s cramped but Jensen_ needed _to get a taste, so he gets back to work, spreading Jared’s cheeks so wide Jared hisses at the slight stretch._

 _Jensen tells him not to worry about_ that _stretch. He should be worried about the length of Jensen’s arm filling out his guts._

_Woah._

_Fisting?_

Jensen’s cock blurts out a fat drop of pre-come and his chest starts heaving, sweat breaking out on his ‘brows as he jacks himself, imagining the pressure of Jared’s internal walls bearing down on his arm.

_Fuck. His arm. Yeah. Fist clenched, punching down, other hand coming round to trace the ridges of his knuckles, Jared’s cock drooling out fine lines of pre-come onto his wrist. Jensen licks his lips, pulls his arm out, watches Jared snatch closed. Pushes in again. Open. Shut. Open. Shut. Open. Shut. Fuck. Jared can take anything. He can take his whole Goddamn arm and Jared’s begging for more, wants Jensen to saw his arm in and out of his ass, wants him to bury himself deep in his guts and live there forever._

_Jared wants to be full of it. Of him. Of everything he can give him. And Jensen’s getting up. His breathing is shot, he can barely manage to get a hold of Jared’s hip before he’s curling a finger into the strap of the G-string, gripping it for dear life as he fucks in all the way to the root—Jared’s just been stretched out by his_ fucking fist _but he’s still able to swallow up his cock and clench around it in_ just _the right way, the way that leaves Jensen struggling to get control of himself, jaw so tight it aches—_

_He’s pinching his fingers into Jared’s hips, he’s moving his other hand up to curl slick digits into Jared’s beautiful hair, angling his neck and fucking into him, Jared’s moans coming out in snapped off rumbles._

_It’s loud. The slap, slap slap is bursting through the privacy of the door. Maybe they’re in public? Maybe they were trapped and this is what happened? Jensen doesn’t care who hears. He only cares if they can see—see the shape of his cock sliding like a hot knife through butter into Jared’s channel, over and over again, Jared slapping his hand on the wall, thrusting his ass back, begging for harder; he can take it, he can take it all—he’s not gonna break after a vigorous pounding. No! He’s gonna turns his eyes on Jensen with mischief and ask him if that’s all he’s got._

Jensen’s breaths stutter in his throat, hips jerking, toes spasming as he thrusts up out of the chair, bottom lip caught between his teeth. He releases it. They part, take in a breath. It catches on the way down, he feels like he’s choking on it but he can’t stop the frantic jerks to his cock that have him curling into himself before repelling back against the chair. It moves a touch from his weight, settles him. Jensen squirms in his seat, tortures himself with a slick, slow twist around the crown, imagines Jared’s ass throbbing around him, desperate to cling to his cock, trying to draw Jensen back in when he has no plans to stay the fuck away, ever.

_It changes again. Jared’s hanging off the end of his bed, Jensen’s balls slapping against the bridge of his nose as he bottoms out in Jared’s throat, watching the lift of his Adam’s apple on the way out, wet bubbles of air releasing from the gaps in Jared’s lips. He’s gagging but he’s not stopping. It’s clearly uncomfortable but he pitches forward anyway, tying to get Jensen back all the way in the clutch of his throat. His hands are tied, so he can’t latch onto anything. Jensen stills with the tip flirting with Jared’s eager tongue, darting around, looking to curl over the underside._

_Jensen stations his fingers underneath Jared’s chin then, tilts his hips back and bunny fucks his throat, watching Jared’s cock twitch, jump, stand to attention as it leaks profusely, falling down with a light smack on Jared’s stomach. He keeps pistoning in and out, loving the wet, warm heat surrounding him, gearing up to come down Jared’s throat, spurred on by the muffled cries and vibrations zinging along his cock._

It surges through him. His cock pulses, his ass clenches, his feet dig into the floor, his back arches up and out, and his mouth closes around a wet gasp as he comes in hot, almost painful spurts over his shirt, panting for breath. He’s wrung out, fucked-out, loose-limbed, but he’s not happy with the orgasm.

_He watches Jared greedily swallowing down everything he has to give him, throat continuing to work, lips tightening like a vice seal as Jensen pulls his hips back until his cock leaves a sticky, wet trail from Jared’s top lip to his hairline. Not done, Jensen bends and reaches, hooks Jared’s thighs in his grip and pulls him back, enough to pump three fingers into him, demanding that Jared suck the head of his own cock until he’s shooting hot and thick into himself, mixing their cum in Jared’s stomach.  
_

_And he does. Watching Jared swallow his own release, moaning at the taste, hole flexing around his fingers…_

Jensen smacks his head on the desk. Fuck. Shit. He’s not satisfied with the fantasy. Jensen wants the real thing. It’s the only thing he can think about and it’s driving him crazy.

He strips off his shirt, wipes his hand on some tissues, throws them in the bin and then walks from his office to his room for a shower. Now that he’s got his rocks off, he really needs to stop thinking about that thoroughly arousing man and get some work done.

…

After checking the cameras.

For a minute.

===

Well, this isn’t going exactly the way Jared planned at all. Chad was supposed to get a meeting with Jensen, and then Jared was supposed to swoop in and suck his—tell him he didn’t mean to freeze like a bad internet connection when surfing Pornhub. After that, who knows? Candlelit dinner? A basketball game? A trip around the world? There’s no telling. As long as Jared was able to redeem himself for his fish out of water smoothness a few days ago, all will be right with the world.

Jared’s not getting that chance, though. Oh, _no._ Chad is on the naughty list, so Jensen is refusing to even entertain the idea of speaking with him. Which, if Jared thinks about it, is understandable. He did give him a free pass, after all. Giving him a chance to rub salt in the wound, or take the piss out of his _kindness_ would definitely have someone on the defensive. Regardless of that, it’s frustrating.

Aside from his mission to get a chance to ride—talk to Jensen again, something _weird_ happened. And by weird, he means _Sandy won something._ That doesn’t happen in his world. In the real world. Where he is right now. It just simply doesn’t. Sandy has been known to buy a hundred scratchers and not even win a free replacement turn that would ultimately come back a loser anyway, so her somehow winning those dollar, dollar bills is… disconcerting, at the very least.

Don’t get him wrong, he’s thrilled for her. Truly. She deserves to go to _Vermont._ Could have picked somewhere _outside_ of the U.S., but he’s not here to judge. She said she wanted to go there because of some building that he forgets the name of. The architecture is neat or whatever. Jared didn’t really pay much attention after realising that he’s gonna have to stick around for _a while._ Which he’s fine with. Anyone that knows him knows that he’s always happy to help a friend in need…

Coincidentally, this is good for him. Jensen came to his bar three nights in a row, so he must live around here somewhere. Jared has already tried calculating distances, putting together the top-billed houses that have already been sold. There’s no way a Mafioso… _and, fuck he’s not sure how he feels about how much that turns his crank_ isn’t shacking up in a top tier, straight out of _Richy Riches_ weekly.

Okay, so that’s not actually a thing. It’s a _made-up_ thing. But that’s not the point. So, aside from feeling like the world’s worst stalker, Jared’s confident that if he can somehow triangulate the location that Jensen came from, he can find the house… compound? Mansion? Estate? _Whatever_ it is that he’s looking for, which will lead him to Jensen and then he’ll sit on his face and— _casually_ explain that he caught the jitters the other night because he was too busy focusing on that d— _agonizing_ over getting Chad off the hook.

Yeah.

Not anything else.

Not that bulge… Or those thick thighs… Or those fingers flirting with the buttons on his jacket… Or those lips sealed over the tips of his fingers… Or that damn bottom lip constantly getting caught between straight white teeth—

Jared thumps the bar, ignores the barfly’s odd raised ‘brow. He still doesn’t know his name. Let’s go with Lawrence.

Hands smooth through his hair and he huffs, lips twitching as he focuses on Jensen’s seat, wishing he would magically appear there so he could lean over the bar, get that fat cock out of his slacks and swallow him whole— _talk_ to him about literally anything… Because while Jensen is sex personified, he’s also extremely fun to flirt with, talk to, fantasize about crawling on his hands and knees towards—

 _Fuck_. He really needs to get laid. Can’t, though. Jared _promised_ two months. He has a couple of weeks left. It’s doable. He’d just rather someone do him. Preferably a man with green eyes, a deep, whisky smooth voice and hands that look like they could card softly through his hair as much as they could roughly pin him to the wall, thigh wedged between his own, heady breath on his neck, teeth a silent promise on his throat—

Oh shit.

Stop thinking of Jensen!

It’s strange how little he cares that he’s a potential murderer. That he’s _killed_ people for power, gain, wealth, information—whatever it may be. The knowledge should give Jared pause, should have him running in the opposite direction. For some reason, it doesn’t… He feels _drawn_ to that power, dancing along to the beat of Jensen’s drum before he even knows what’s happening.

Jared doesn’t _like_ violence. He’s the type that doesn’t use his hands unless it’s absolutely necessary, and almost never for himself. Being the bigger guy often means knowing when to pull punches and prevent it from going there in the first place. Jared’s been quite lucky to subdue people without it getting to that point, often proving to them that he’s not trying to come for their girl or make them look weak in front of their friends. It’s just a response to his height. They think they have to start showing off or knock him down a few pegs. He never gives them shit for it, just proves in his own way that he’s not looking for any trouble.

Which, for the most part, works. There have been a couple of douchebags that wouldn’t take the hint and Jared has had to get a little rowdy in order to get them to back off. Most of the time, he uses his stature to intimidate anyone coming after his friends. That’s what matters to him, after all. He has no problem acting as a barricade for them, with his walls of muscles _that don’t seem to be intimidating at all to Jensen and fuck if that isn’t arousing by itself._

Jensen looks at him like Jared’s height and bigger build make things even more interesting—a challenge. Even though Jared has no intentions of fighting him for dominance or whatever. Jensen can bend him, break him, do anything he goddamn wants to him and Jared will ask for seconds. But that doesn’t mean he can’t put on an _act_ that he’s not about to give in that easily.

Yeah. That’s hot. Jensen not saying anything, twisting, pushing, shoving him around, connecting his back with a wall, prying his legs open—

Fuck.

Stop. He can’t think about this.

Fortunately, he’s forced to be a functioning human when some girl in a sweater that looks like it was handmade by her Grandma orders a round of drinks. He gets to work setting up the glasses, separating the singles and doubles, gathering garnishes and stuff to make it seem a tad more presentable. It’s not the normal way to do the drinks, but Sandy’s not here to direct him, so he’ll do it the way that he wants.

Besides, when he’s done putting them all together, Grandmas Sweater looks pleased with what he’s served up, paying him and even leaving a tip before walking the tray of drinks back over to her friends.

It’s 3 P.M.

He’s not sure if he’s taking note of that because it’s not early enough for him to close and search for Jensen’s house/compound/estate/whatever, or because that group of girls are having rounds of shots and sharing bottles of wine between them.

Not that it matters any. Jared’s here to serve drinks, not give them a hard time about getting shitfaced before 7:30 P.M.

Still, he can’t stop himself from casting resentful looks at them, and Lawrence. Stupid Lawrence can’t seem to take a hint that Jared needs them all to leave so he can say _well, looks like that’s it for the night,_ make the effort to check left and right for any patrons and then lock the place up, get in his car and drive around searching for a homing beacon leading him to Jensen’s co—place.

It’s not like he can ask anyone. If Jensen’s name comes up, everyone starts shitting themselves. Which, for the record, does _slightly_ have Jared reconsidering his mission to reunite them, but then he remembers that everyone likes to stretch the truth. For all he knows, these people have read _theories_ online that have no bearing on who the real Jensen is since they can’t be proven.

Or disproven.

It’s a risk, okay? Jared knows that. He does. Whatever the reason may be, he feels as though he has to try—find out for himself. As far as Jared is concerned, so long as Jensen isn’t going about killing babies, puppies and people that have _nothing_ to do with that life, he can learn to live with it. Or revel in it… Being bedded by such a powerful, ruthless man—but only if they deserve it for some reason.

Jared can’t imagine Jensen killing needlessly. It’s cowardly, and the thought that Jensen could do that puts a bad taste in his mouth.

Dismissing that line of thought, Jared spots Lawrence’s empty glass and refills it, hiding an eyeroll.

===

Jensen tunes out the sounds of the man’s screams, drumming his fingers absentmindedly on the arms of his chair. This has been going on for a while. Mr J is pulling out all of the stops, digging cocktail sticks into his cuticles, drilling a hole through his hand, shooting him in the shoulder and then twisting a gloved finger into the wound. They’re not saying anything, though, which is pissing Jensen off because he pays Mr J good money to get answers, and he’s not getting them.

Maybe this goes deeper than he thought?

The dude in the torture chair is a mere grunt. A low rank. Nobody. His name is Francis or something. Jensen may make it a business of knowing everyone in his charge, but forgettable people can often be… forgotten. How Francis has managed to hold out this long baffles him. That’s not to say that he doesn’t have men and women in his ranks that couldn’t withstand this kind of torture, but with Francis being a seemingly worthless member of the team, it stands to reason where he could have gotten the training that built up his resistance to this kind of treatment.

Even though it’s annoying, Jensen has to admit that he’s impressed. Marginally. Reminds him of the time when he was just starting out and Morgan took issue with him honing on his territory. He took it all with a cheeky grin, never offering a word, not even when he was spitting heaps of blood onto the floor. He still smiled a bloody smirk, gritting his teeth at the next hard hit to his face.

Luckily, Chris and Co showed up with a plan of action, getting him out of there before Morgan could throw a tantrum and make him eat lead.

From what Jensen can gather, Francis isn’t a stranger to abuse. But how much can he take, really? How much before he decides that the tough guy act only does so much? Not that he’s putting on that act. Seems to have opted for the passive approach, taking it all in stride, staring blankly at nothing. It’s almost as if he’s switched off his brain.

The stories had him shaken up, that’s true, from what the team he had watching Francis told him during meetings. They said he was practically shaking in his boots. So then why? Why isn’t he saying anything? Why isn’t he giving up the information just to stop the next nail being ripped off his finger by the cruellest pair of pliers Jensen’s ever seen.

Hm.

Maybe a different _approach_ is the way forward here?

Jensen hums to himself as he stands from his chair, stretching his limbs out. Chris eyes him from his right, Jensen’s hand wave signalling for him to stay where he is as he stalks over to the middle of the room, coming to Francis’s left. If the man is aware that he’s there, he makes no move to announce it, staring steadfastly at the floor, shoulders hunched forward, red tears weeping from the nailbeds. It’s disgusting to see the abused flesh exposed but Jensen pretends it’s completely normal, whistling in appreciation.

“Look at that, Frank? Tore it straight off’a ya’, huh?” Jensen observes casually, circling around him, dragging the tip of his finger along the base of his neck, subtly checking his pulse point as he drapes an arm over rigid shoulders, fingers flirting with a sweaty throat while he goes on, “That’s gonna take, what, six months to grow back?” he asks the room, pretending as if they’re just a group of friends engaged in random conversation. “Good thing you’ll get it back before picture day… Ain’t that a relief?”

Mr J eyes Jensen, urging him to get to his point or get out of his way. Reading the message loud and clear, Jensen boldly cuts his eyes to him, hoping the silent _I pay you, not the other way around_ is clear enough. If the look of amused respect is anything to go by, it must have landed.

“You know who else has a picture day coming up?”

Francis stiffens.

That’s right.

“Little Marcus, right? What, he’s in fifth grade or something?” Jensen questions, not really needing an answer since he already knows. “Yeah, that’s right. Fifth grade. Wow. He must be so excited to move on up to sixth after summer ends… _If_ he makes it to sixth. _Is_ he gonna make it to sixth, Frank?”

Jensen has no intention of harming little Marcus, and this guy apparently knows that. 

“You don’t kill kids—or innocents. You never have!” Frank yells, detached exterior breaking.

A dark chuckle is the first response that he gets, followed by a couple of playful taps on his shoulder as Jensen circles around him, finally embracing his head in mock affection, running calloused thumbs over his cheekbones while offering a maniacal grin.

“Sweetheart, don’t believe everything you hear about me,” he replies, licking his lips. “See, folks are soft these days. They don’ like the idea of getting the kiddies involved—it offends their _delicate_ sensibilities. So I tell them a white lie,” Jensen deceives him, moving his hand up to grip his hair and clench until Frank struggles to blink. “It keeps them happy, in line,… and they don’t ask any questions.”

“You’re lying,” Francis hisses, swallowing down the lump in his throat.

Jensen shakes his head like he’s extremely disappointed, as if he expected better of the man sitting in front of him. He holds his hand out. Chris deposits a phone in his open palm without another word, having probably already picked up on Jensen’s plan—like a good righthand man does—and gotten a recent photo of Marcus to cement his threat.

Turning the phone over so Francis can see it has the desired effect of the man fighting his binds for the first time since being tied down, eyes wetting with tears of anger or desperation.

“I don’t need to tell you what will happen next if you don’t start talking, pal,” Jensen says, swiping to the next shot which is one of his hitmen poised and ready to shoot. “Decide quickly. You have three minutes.”

Jensen turns away from him then, regarding Mr J with a small nod before reclaiming his seat, getting lost in his thoughts while they wait out the three minutes. Mr J goes back to prying Francis’s fingernails off, the addition of emotional torture preventing the man from sinking into himself to subdue the pain somewhat, so every blood-curdling scream is unfiltered and just as annoying as they were at the start of this.

Sighing, Jensen drums a beat on his fingers and thinks about what Jared might be doing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this chapter, let me know what you liked about it! Do you like when Jensen gets a little dangerous? I do, personally. What do you think of Jared's inability to get through a train of thought without derailing to sex? XD

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and Kudos are greatly appreciated. :D


End file.
